Most self-destructive behaviors develop from self-loathing and poor self-esteem.  This was certainly true in my case.  I grew up with very negative self-beliefs, extremely low self-esteem and I used to rationalize that I was deserving of the bad things that happened to me.  Children have no frame of reference—and they are also egocentric; therefore, they believe that any evil they come across in their lives is a direct result of who they are.  I believed I deserved to be abused—so it was a natural progression for me start abusing myself when my father stopped molesting me; I started cutting myself, smoking and drinking, and I also started using drugs.  After awhile, it became a viscous cycle—the more I abused myself, the more I loathed myself and the more I hated myself, the more I wanted to hurt myself. 

Central to my recovery was finally learning to love myself, which was not easy to do.  How do you change a lifetime of self-loathing into a positive self-view and compassion for yourself?  In a previous post, I wrote about our self-beliefs and how the labels we assign to ourselves can become larger than life.  If I see myself as an ugly being, incapable and undeserving of love, I am likely to fill my world with negative energy and have that view become a self-fulfilling prophecy.  However, if I see myself as a loving and capable person, who is worthy of happiness, it is more likely that I will attract that kind of energy into my life. 

It is not an easy road—learning to love ourselves.  If only we could snap our fingers and say,  “I am a wonderful person, worthy of love and I deserve good things in my life!”  (and really believe it)  However, there is some merit to the idea of ‘faking it until you make it,” which you can do by saying just those things to yourself in the form of daily affirmations.  You can also train yourself to make loving decisions about yourself.  When you are at a crossroads, picture yourself going down the positive path rather than the negative one.  It takes work to do this but after awhile, you become more comfortable in viewing yourself through a lens of love rather than one of negativity.  We all have little voices in our heads—voices that can lead us down one path or another.  When you hear that nagging negative voice pulling you down, try to reconstruct those negative thought patterns by speaking to yourself with the same kind of love and compassion that you show for others.  Most people who have trouble loving themselves treat their friends and family far better than they do themselves.  First and foremost, each of us should be our own best friend. 

When I was struggling so much with self-esteem, I would dwell on the negative things about  myself and rarely focus on the positive.  For example, when I would not do well on a paper in college, I would spend days beating myself up about it—and just feeling so bad about myself—feeling like a failure.  Never mind that I got ten A’s for every B!  I would rarely give myself credit for anything but I was so quick to take the blame for everything—even things that were beyond my control.  Of course, it is important for each of us to take responsibility for our mistakes but it is also important for all of us to savor our victories and accomplishments in life. 

I was a punk rocker—and I never listened to much Whitney Houston music in the 1980’s but when I was in recovery and just learning to love myself, I used to listen to the song, “The Greatest Love” and it would bring tears to my eyes.  I was not near to the point where I loved myself but I wanted to love myself so much.  I believe I have finally reached the point where I have found that greatest love but it sure has not come easily.

From The Greatest Love by ~Michael Masser and Linda Creed (performed by Whitney Houston). 

“I decided long ago, never to walk in anyone’s shadow
If I fail, if I succeed—at least I’ll live as I believe
No matter what they take from me, they can’t take away my dignity
Because the greatest love of all is happening to me
I found the greatest love of all inside of me
The greatest love of all is easy to achieve
Learning to love yourself is the greatest love of all.”  

Download | Duration: 00:04:55

Although I know I had a spiritual awakening in the hospital that night before I entered treatment, I don’t believe I started on thoughtful spiritual journey until a couple years into my recovery, although I often thought of that night in the hospital, when cravings and a true desire for change met head on. 

During the early part of my recovery, I was too full of pain and rage to think about where spirituality might fit into my life.  In fact, I was resentful of the Alcoholics Anonymous belief that every recovering person has to have a higher power—and true to my ever-rebellious nature; I balked at the idea of having to find a higher power in order to have a successful recovery. 

I remember one day, very early in my recovery, when all the women in The Freedom House were sitting around talking about the meaning of their higher power and I felt both frustrated and isolated that I did not have one.  When I voiced this to the group leader, she told me that anything could be my higher power.  I contemplated this for several minutes and then announced to the group that I had I had found a higher power as well—and that the chair I was sitting on was my higher power!  Defiantly, I looked around the group sitting before me and was stunned when my announcement yielded no protests from anyone.  One of the lovely things about AA is that its members want you to succeed so much—no one batted an eye and everyone seemed to accept my choice.

At first, this baffled me because usually, my rebellious behavior would get more of a rise out of people.  I remember feeling just a little disappointed that my choice of a chair for a higher power got such a small reaction.

I truly believe that as we journey along, we meet different people along our paths who can influence us greatly, either positively or negatively.  I can look back at my life and see distinct crossroads in my life where I had a choice of making a positive or negative decision and I had almost always chosen the negative road.  When I entered The Freedom House, I had no idea that it would work—but I do know that I was finally ready to listen to others and more importantly, I finally wanted to make positive choices in my life.  This was the psychic change that occurred after I fell to my knees, praying for help.  Was it God that answered my prayers?  Or was it that I was finally ready to change.  Maybe it was both. 

I have met many people whom I consider to be spiritual advisors.  About two years into my recovery, I started looking to others that I admired and nearly all of them had a serene peacefulness about them.  I asked each of them how they had attained that serenity and all told me about the spiritual aspect of their lives.  I wanted their serenity; my life had been filled with so much chaos that I craved peace. So, I set off on a quest to find how spirituality might fit into my life.  I visited churches of all denominations, including Christian Churches, Jewish Synagogues, and Moslem Mosques.   I attended Buddhist gatherings and Native American ceremonies.  I also spent a lot of time taking long walks in the countryside near Bozeman, Montana and hiking in the surrounding Rocky Mountains.   I found that a Higher Power existed for me in all of those places because a relationship with a higher power is within each of us; thus, I developed a spiritual path that was all my own.  I don’t believe there is one ‘right way’ that one can find spiritual enlightenment; there are many paths and this journey is highly personal to each of us. 

My quest is not over—not by a long shot.  I believe that just as we intellectually grow throughout our entire lives, we develop spiritually as long as our hearts and minds remain open.   

Peace,

Melinda

Download | Duration: 00:04:36

I was raised with no religion at all.  My grandmother on my mother’s side was a fundamentalist Christian who was so zealous in her religion that my mother didn’t want to have anything to do with organized religion after she left home to go to college.  My father was Egyptian but not a practicing Moslem.  When my parents married, they decided they would raise their children without organized religion.  I think I might have benefited had I had a spiritual path as a child because I always felt so isolated and so very alone—perhaps if there had been a spiritual aspect to my life, I might not have become so self-destructive.  It’s hard to know for sure. 

I do remember exactly when I turned to spirituality for the first time.   It was the night before I entered treatment and I’d been in the intensive care wing of a hospital recovering from  a three day coma that had been brought by drinking a full bottle of furniture polish (yes, I know!).  I had spent the previous week shooting heroin and smoking crack and had decided I could no longer live in this world.  The furniture polish was my third attempt at suicide that weekend—I was found by the upstairs neighbor, who called 911. 

As I have written about on this blog, while I was in the hospital, I met an angel on earth named Tim Callahan, who managed to get me into The Freedom House—not a small feat, considering I had no money and no insurance.  I had to wait a few days before a bed opened up at The Freedom House and Tim arranged with the hospital to keep me an extra day so I would not go back onto the streets; he knew full well if I did that then I would likely never make it into treatment. 

So, that last night, before I was to enter treatment, I was feeling much better—the terrible effects from drinking the furniture polish were wearing off and I wanted to go get some drugs.  I decided to leave the hospital, rationalizing that I would meet Tim back there  the next morning—and that I would still make it into treatment.  As I was getting ready to leave, a nurse came into my room, inquiring what the heck was I doing—they had been told that I would not check out until the following morning.  I told her that I felt fine, that I was going to leave, and that I would meet Tim in the lobby of the hospital the next morning.  She must have called Tim because as I was skipping out the door of my hospital room, who should I run into but Tim!  I remember flushing and stammering for words. 

"Melinda, what’s going on?  Where are you going?”  His eyes were positively piercing.

“Hey Tim—um, I am um, going to, um, my friend’s house to pick up some stuff I, um, am going to need         before I go to The Freedom House,” I stammered, uncomfortably.
 
“What could you possibly need?” He asked, doubtfully. 
 
“Um, I wanted to pick up a few clothes and whatnot.”  I studied the floor and drew an imaginary circle with the toe of my shoe.  I really was having a hard time even coming up with a decent reason.  Even to my own ears, my reasoning sounded lame.  

He took my hand and walked me over to the bed and we both sat down, where the minutes ticked by in uncomfortable silence.  Finally, he looked at me with all the seriousness in the world.  “Melinda, if you leave here tonight, you will die.  This is your chance—your last chance.  I want you to think back on how you felt the other day and I want you to consider your choice very seriously here.  I am not going to sit and babysit you tonight—this is your decision.  But know this, an opportunity like this one might not come around for a long time.” 

As the true queen of denial, I immediately tried to convince him otherwise, “Oh, but I am going to definitely go to The Freedom House  tomorrow—I promise!”

Tim stood to leave.  “Melinda, I will be here at 1:00 tomorrow afternoon to take you to The Freedom House, as we had planned on.  I hope you will be here.  I will pray that you will be here.”  And then he left. 

I remember sitting on the bed, considering Tim’s words and my options.  In my deepest heart, I did know he was right but at the same time, I felt the pull of addiction.  The craving was so strong that night—I could actually feel the needle going in my vein, I could taste the crack as it entered my throat and lungs, the sickly sweet smoke filling  every fiber and cell of my body as wave after wave of rush washed over me.  I wanted drugs that night more than I have ever wanted them—and I felt powerless to stop myself from running out to get them.  In fact, I knew that I could not stop myself—I knew that I didn’t have the courage to change and so I did the only thing I could think of.  I got down on my knees, balling like a baby, and I prayed to a God that I had never believed in.  I prayed that this elusive God, the recipient of so many broken promises and failed deals, would keep me in that hospital. 

 I prayed as if my life depended on it.  I asked for the strength and courage to change and somehow, some way, my prayers were answered that night.  I did not have a religious experience that night in the sense that you read about—I didn’t burst out into tongues and I surely didn’t feel the wild happiness that some people describe after accepting Jesus (which I didn’t do that night).  I simply asked for help because I didn’t know what else to do.

Whoever God is—whatever God is—I am convinced a higher power was in my hospital room that night because I hung on that night and many nights after that.   There were many times during the course of my recovery when I hung onto a bed, couch or chair with white knuckles—absolutely willing myself to not go out and get drugs.  To not do the easiest thing is often the hardest thing to do. 

This was the first of many tests that I would come across in my recovery.  Tim Callahan was positively radiant when he picked me up that next afternoon.  The night before was written on my face—I hadn’t slept a wink but I also hadn’t spent the night shooting heroin and smoking crack. 

That night changed me forever; I knew a higher power did exist in my life and it became an important part of my recovery.  I also started on a path to understand where spirituality might fit in my life. 

Peace,

Melinda

Download | Duration: 00:06:58

We all know the term, ‘refugee’ but how many of us actually consider what this might mean in the real world?  Throughout the world, every day, people are forced to abandon their homes, leaving everything behind to face a world where uncertainty, fear, and constant danger prevail.  Today, November 10, Bloggers Unite reaches out to the many voices in the blogosphere, urging us all to join as one to dedicate our posts to increase awareness of the suffering of refugees throughout the world. 

As I was researching material for this post, I thought back to my own time as a homeless person.  I remember the fear and uncertainty that literally accompanied me every waking hour.  Today, I thought of those days again and I tried putting myself in the shoes of those who are suffering.  While I can relate to not having a home, I cannot imagine the horrific experiences that placed them in such a position.  My homelessness was a result of a fire that I had built—one that was stoked with self-destructive behavior of my own doing, in hopes that the fire would finally consume me.  I was as lucky as any one person could be.  I lived and managed to turn my life in a completely new and fulfilling direction.  Sure, I lived through some tough, tough times but even at my darkest hour, even when I was homeless, I did not suffer in a manner such as those victims who are innocent refugees.  The refugees of the world live in an existence none of us can truly fathom, where life itself is tentative, existing in the harshest of conditions, and exposed to the darkest side of humankind.  

This post is my contribution to Bloggers Unite, which marks this day, November 10, 2008.  Some of the most critical situations include the following:

The Democratic Republic of Congo (DRC):   Tens of thousands of rural women, children, and men have fled to Rwanda and Uganda, as well as Goma.  Conflict and humanitarian crises in the DRC have already claimed the lives of 5.4 million people since 1998 and continue to leave as many as 45,000 dead each month, according to the Congo mortality survey. 

Jordan:  The Iraq War has created one of the fastest growing refugee crises in the world.  Millions of people have been forced to leave their home, fleeing to Jordan, a country with limited resources.  There are an estimated 2.8 million internally displaced people in Iraq, according to the International Organization for Migration.  Women and children are particularly vulnerable; many are left alone because male members of the family have been killed.

Sudan:  In Darfur, almost a quarter million civilians have been forced to flee due to extreme violence.  Approximately 1,000 people per day have been fleeing for their lives; since the conflict broke out in 2003, when two loosely allied rebel groups, the Sudan Liberation Movement/Army and the Justice and Equality movement launched an uprising against the government of Sudan.  Approximately 1.8 million people live in camps inside Sudan, with another 250,000 living in refugee camps across the border in Chad.  Most heartbreaking—more than half of those who are refugees are those under eighteen year of age and between 70 and 80 percent are women and children. 

Georgia:  Tens of thousands of people in the Georgia region are displaced by the ongoing unrest. With thousands of South Ossetians fleeing into North Ossetia, many are living in desperate conditions with little access to basic services that most of us take for granted every day.  What can we do to help? 

Donate:  You can donate online, through the Women’s Commission for Refugee Women and Children at https://secure.entango.com/donate/mmcejk6cr4g

If you prefer to donate by mail, you can do so by sending donations to:

                Women's Commission for Refugee Women and Children
                122 East 42nd Street, 11th Floor
                New York, New York 10168-1289
                USA

If you prefer to use the phone, you may do so by contacting Lucy Roche at (212) 551-3009

No man is an island; we are all one.  What affects one, affects us all—we are all united through the spirit of humanity, separated only by circumstance.  Therefore, I ask, in the name of humanity that every person does what she or he can to help end the suffering of millions in the world we share. 

Peace,

Melinda 

Download | Duration: 00:05:05

January 18 is a red-letter day for me every year.  It’s not my birthday, nor is it the birthday of my husband or any of my close friends.  It’s not my wedding anniversary but it might be even more important to me than that date.  January 18, 1994 was the day I entered into treatment at The Freedom House and as such, it is the anniversary of my second chance at life.  I doubt anything could be more significant than that. 

Today, I was reading an interview I gave for Dr. Nicole Sundene (whom I affectionately call ‘Doc Nicole), for her site, “Kitchen Table Medicine,” which you can read here.  Before I started writing my memoir and blogging about my journey of addiction and recovery, it had been several years since I thought much about those tough early days.  I have been in recovery for so long now that I identify much more with being clean than I do with being an addict, which is a good thing! 

However, in reading the interview, I started thinking more about those early days, which allowed me to reflect on why I was finally successful at recovery. I thought I would dedicate this post to that aspect of recovery, since so many addicts struggle with relapse.  Although it is a difficult number to really pin down, most studies indicate that between 55 to 65 percent of all addicts will relapse in the first year.  What makes a successful recovery?  I believe several factors can optimize one's chances for success. 

Probably the biggest factor in my recovery was being given access to a comprehensive treatment center.  I think many people who have not experienced it cannot really understand how all encompassing addiction is.  When you spend five, ten, or more years in addiction, it takes much more than simply attending Alcoholics/Narcotics Anonymous meetings or even a entering a thirty-day treatment center.  I spent nearly six months in treatment and I needed every minute of that time. 

Another reason my recovery was successful is after I left The Freedom House, I separated myself from what is known in recovery as ‘slippery’ people, places, and things by moving to Montana to start college.  Even if you don’t move to another city or state—moving to new neighborhood is a good idea because it separates you from former acquaintances that might not have your best interest at heart.  Some days, were so rough, I would spend the day ‘white knuckling’ it, where I would just hang on to anything I could to keep myself from running out the door.  If I’d had easy access to the people I had known in San Francisco, I might have very easily fallen off the wagon.  Building up a strong network of people who were drug-free was crucial to my recovery. 

Learning about my addiction was also important.  After I entered college, I started taking classes that helped me learn more about the biological aspects of addiction and withdrawal.  This knowledge helped me understand why I had become a drug addict and the role of neurotransmitters and hormones in the extreme mood swings I was feeling during that first year.

Meetings were also so crucial to my early recovery.  After leaving The Freedom House, I went to an NA or AA meeting almost every day.  When I felt like using, I immediately went to a meeting so that this became like second nature after awhile. 

Finding people who could help me along my spiritual path was also paramount.  The spiritual advisors and NA sponsors I had were invaluable to me and helped me so much in those early days of recovery.  It was so important for me to see living examples of successful recovery and to have people in my life who were nonjudgmental and supportive. 

Being single and getting to know myself was imperative also.  Most who are in recovery will tell those who are new to stay away from romantic relationships during the first year.  Now, if you are already in an intimate relationship when you enter recovery, that’s a different story—but forming a new, romantic relationship is not a good idea.  Early recovery brings so many changes to a person—it is a time for the recovering addict to devote all one’s energy and attention to oneself.   After a person has been in recovery for a longer time, those relationships will come—and they will have a much better chance at surviving the storms any relationship is bound to bring on. 

I also tried to stay upbeat but realistic about where I was going, as well as the path I had traveled.  Early in my recovery, every day, I would write in my journal the reasons I had to stay clean that day—and I would concentrate on the positive things that were going on.  It also didn’t hurt to have those reminders about where I had been.  For example, I have scars from using IV needles on my inner arms—and although I am sometimes embarrassed about them when I wear short sleeves, they are a good reminder of where I have been . . . and how far I have come, as well as where I never want to go again.   

My gratefuls have also helped me to stay focused, and humble.  I end every night saying my ‘gratefuls’ and take that time to reflect on how truly fortunate I am. 

I have reflected more on my addiction and recovery in the past few months than I have for many years, which is natural since I am blogging about my journey, as well as writing my memoir.  However, every year, on January 18, I wake up and count my blessings at being so fortunate to have found recovery when I did.  It changed every aspect of my life.  And for every person who doubts that he/she has the ability to stay drug free, you can do it.  I was considered hopeless by many people—and if I can do it, then anyone can. 

Peace,

Melinda

Download | Duration: 00:06:32

After writing my last post on forgiveness, I have had some opportunity to reflect more on this topic, particularly given the insightful and enlightening comments that were shared on this blog.  Most everyone who commented agreed that forgiveness is an organic process and one that should be driven by love.  I do agree with that.  As I thought further about forgiveness, I remembered an experience I had relatively early in my recovery, which made me consider the damage that can be caused by seeking forgiveness in a self-serving manner; exculpation has the potential to be destructive. 

I had done many things during the height of my heroin addiction, for which I have been deeply ashamed.  Heroin really does rob one’s soul; I became a person I was not proud of and committed acts that I would never consider doing today.  At the height of our addiction to heroin, Michael (my former husband who died from an overdose in 1992) and I burglarized the home of a woman named Sally.  Sally was primarily a business partner but she was also a person whom we considered a friend. We made a little extra money selling marijuana, which we bought from Sally and as our addictions loomed out of control, we started taking increasingly desperate measures to support our large habits.  After studying her house during the many times we went to buy quantities of marijuana from her, we decided we would break in while she was away and steal the marijuana.  As usual, we were able to justify (so wrongly) our behavior by telling ourselves that she was making money off us and that she somehow owed us.  Another case of delusional thinking brought on by a deep state of denial. 

We studied her house for a couple of weeks and learned the routine she kept until we were finally ready to make a move; we showed up at Sally’s house in the middle of a sparkling clear San Francisco day.  I sat in the car, keeping lookout while Michael brazenly scaled the wall of her apartment building and broke into her upstairs window.  It was so surrealistic.  I watched as the minutes ticked away on my watch—it seemed like a lifetime went by until Michael finally emerged with a large trash bag filled to the brim with marijuana as well as some other items he had grabbed while in the house.  In addition to the marijuana, he had also stolen her collection of silver dollars, a large assortment of CD’s, and some gold jewelry.  We immediately pawned the silver dollars, jewelry and CD’s and we weighed out baggies of marijuana to sell to our customers.  That very night,  Sally called us up—at first, we were petrified she had somehow figured out that we were the burglars—but as we talked to her on the speaker phone, we started to relax as we realized her only purpose in calling us was to vent her anger and frustration with two people she considered her friends.  I was convinced she never suspected us at all.  This burglary was a turning point in my addiction; in the past, my addiction had only been self-destructive; I had never hurt another person—at least not deliberately but this was the first act I had done against a friend and it haunted me, even as an addict. 

When I entered recovery and started attending Narcotics Anonymous (NA) meetings, I started ‘working the twelve steps’ of recovery.  The ‘Ninth Step’ in NA advocates that recovering addicts make amends for the wrongs they committed while using drugs. I had a long list of amends, which I was working hard at completing; Sally was on that list. 

I spent almost two years going through that list—and Sally was one of the last names on it.  Most of the people I had harmed knew that I had wronged them.  It is easier to ask forgiveness if the person you are seeking forgiveness from knows of the wrong that was done.  About two years into working my amends, I decided to take a trip back to San Francisco where I would pay Sally a visit and tell her of the burglary Michael and I had committed, to ask her forgiveness, and offer to pay her back.  I did not have five thousand dollars to give her—at least not right then, but I was prepared to make payments to her. 

When I arrived in San Francisco, I called her on the phone—she was so happy to hear from me—she invited me over for dinner that night.  We spent the evening together and caught up on our lives.  I learned that she was no longer selling marijuana.  In fact, after the experience of being robbed, she decided to get out of the business altogether.  We talked about many things—about Michael and his death—and I also told her about the dramatic changes in my own life--about my recovery, and my return to college; we caught up on good times and bad.  All evening I tried to figure out a way to bring up the amends I needed to make with her until finally, I could hold it in no longer and I broke down, blurting out the story of the robbery.  As I cried to Sally, I saw her face change and I immediately knew how devastating this news was to her; two people that she had considered a friend had stolen from her.  I watched her face turn from shock, to sadness, then to anger until she threw me out of the house; she wanted nothing more to do with me. 

I felt terrible when I left.  I rethought the role of forgiveness and the possibility in causing further damage in making amends.  Even though I visited Sally in the context of righting a wrong, I sought her forgiveness, which should not have been my primary purpose.   Seeking that forgiveness had been a selfish act in and of itself.    What had been gained by confessing the burglary to Sally after all that time?  True, a weight lifted from my shoulders—one that I had carried a long time; however, this weight had been lifted at Sally’s emotional expense, changing not only her memories of me—but also her memories of Michael, whom she had really loved. 

I continue to make amends for the wrongs I committed while lost to addiction.  I wronged many people that I do not even know—people I have no way of contacting.  For those people, I make amends to humanity in general, by paying things forward, trying to do the right thing, and helping people in small and unexpected ways.  Since then, I have not allowed my own selfish release of conscience to convolute the primary purpose of making amends, which is to make a former wrong, right.  I learned a great lesson from that early experience in recovery and from that point forward; I have not only considered the wrong I am trying to amend but the consequences making that amends might potentially have. 

Peace,

Melinda

Download | Duration: 00:07:44

The past two weeks have been wonderfully relaxing; it has been a time to reconnect with myself, with my husband, and with nature.  I think most of us turn to nature when we are in need of recharging our energy and restoring our balance. 

A week before Les and I set off for our vacation, I finished the rough draft of my book.  Looking back, it is hard to believe that I only started writing my memoir in early May because it took me on such a journey of insight and revelation.  However, this voyage was also at times very traumatizing, digging deeply into wounds; some that had been forgotten and became revisited and delving into some areas of my past I’d never ventured before; this intense journey left me emotionally drained and in need of renewal, which my time in the Caribbean allowed me.   I was born by the sea in Alexandria, Egypt and I often feel drawn to the sea as a source of infinite strength. 

Reflecting on this last journey, while sitting on the powdery soft sands of lovely beaches, I reflected on another time in which I felt a strong need for renewal.  I had entered The Freedom House in early 1994 (January 18, to be exact!) and had been in treatment for nearly two months when I finally contacted my mother letting her know of my whereabouts.  I learned that she had been very worried about me—having not heard from me for nearly a year. 

In fact, she had been in the process of hiring a private detective to find out where I was—she did not even know if I would be dead or alive when she found me.  She was very happy to hear from me but even more overjoyed when she learned of my decision to enter treatment on my own and heard the firm resolve of my commitment to finally getting and staying clean from heroin.   That contact with my mother was the first of many bridges we would build together during my long journey of recovery in Montana.  When I had about three months clean, she invited me to spend a week with her in Bozeman, Montana, where we would explore the options the future held for me.  I was so nervous and excited as I returned home for first time since changing the direction of my life but the visit went so well.  My mother and I spent a good part of the week immersed in deep and meaningful talks as we walked along the beautiful ridge of Peet’s Hill.  Walking along, I appreciated the grace of the valley, the majesty of the Rocky Mountains, and the first signs of spring wildflowers shooting up from the soil.  The air was crisp and fresh—never in my life have I experienced a sweeter scent that the clean mountain air of Montana.  On one walk, we found a good place to sit and both of us took it all in.  Looking out over that field of wildflowers, I remarked to my mother that I felt as though I had been through a war.  And indeed, I had. 

The mountains of beautiful Montana recharged me that spring; nature has a way of doing that.  Spending time in the cleansing sea air has also left me recharged and renewed and ready to tackle the next phase of my book.  I have not yet read the rough draft at all, except for a few excerpts here and there.  I am ready to venture on in my journey now, feeling refreshed, renewed and balanced.

Peace out—it is great to be back. 

Melinda

Download | Duration: 00:03:55

One of the great benefits of teaching online is being able to travel near and far while working!  My husband and I decided to take a much needed vacation so this is why I have been somewhat remiss in keeping up with posting.   I am in the wonderful Bahamas, enjoying the surf, sun, and my beloved husband.  I just wanted to let all of you know why I have been M.I.A. the last several days. 

Here is a lovely picture of the beautiful Caribbean. 



Warm Regards (and see you in a few days!),

Melinda

I have several things I want to share with everyone.  First, The Melindaville Blog was honored by being selected as the October Blog of the Month on Jennifer's 'Writing to Survive' blog.  This means a great deal to me because the Jennifer’s blog is one of my very favorite in the blogosphere. 

Second, I am excited to announce that I have been asked to be a guest writer on the fabulous site and blog, 'Go! Smell the Flowers.'   Being asked to guest post on such a well established and beautiful blog is truly an honor, as well as a privilege, and I am excited about reaching new readers in the blogosphere.  I have just posted my introdcutory post, which you can read here. 


Melindaville Gains Exposure!

Finally, the wonderfully tasty blog, 'Micki's Morsels' honored The Melindaville Blog with the 'Arte Y Pico Award,' which is another big honor for me.  After I was given this award by Micki, I learned that my good friend Geoffrey of Geoffrey's Farago had also honored my blog with this same award.   This award is given to five blogs (at a time) based on their creativity, design, interest of content, and contribution to the blogging community, regardless of language.  To learn more about this award, click here.  Part of the honor of receiving this award is passing along the award to other blogs that speak to my heart.  I had written out this post and was about to post it, when I heard from my dear friend Geoffrey (who I had selected as a recipient of the award), who told me that he had given me the Arte Y Pica award just today!  I am not altering my selection of Geoffrey's Place and particular his blog, "Love's Passage," because that choice definitely came from my heart.  Here are my five recipients of the award. 


The Arte Y Pico Award

Arte Y Pico Award #1. Clinically Clueless.  This is such an important blog and the author is a person I feel a great kinship with.  The content is harsh but speaks right from the heart as the author shares her compelling journey of working through the trauma of an abusive childhood with her therapist. 

Arte Y Pico Award #2. A Storied Mind.   Depression has reached epidemic proportions in our society; last year, more people missed work due to depression that all other physical illnesses combined.  The purpose of A Storied Mind is to build a small community based using the writing of stories to fight the impacts of depression and related mood disorders. 

Arte Y Pico Award #3. This Time~This Space.  This personal development blog the author has used in transforming and improving her own life, including practical information on food, fitness, health, and well-being; methods used to reduce stress, anxiety, and to control pain; articles on creative visualization, positive thinking, and goal setting; and organizational tools or techniques for planning and scheduling time. 

Arte Y Pico Award #4. Geoffrey’s Place.  My good friend Geoffrey has three blogs that are all important.  Check out Love’s Passage for thoughts on love, intimacy and psychology,  Falling Forward is rich with poetry, literature and the arts,  and  Geoffrey’s Farrago, which is a lovely and eclectic mix of all that encompasses life—anything goes!

Arte Y Pico Award #5. Our Best Version.  This is my last selection but certainly not the least.  Ari Koinuma has a passion for realizing his potential as a person and even better, he is committed to helping others (like me) to do the same.  This blog is a wealth of insight and discovery.  

I hope all my readers will take a moment to check out the great blogs that I have listed above, as well as look for my first guest post on Go!Smell the Flowers. 

Peace,

Melinda

I have been thinking a lot about forgiveness lately.  Probably because the topic has come up on several  of my favorite blogs in the past few weeks, including Timethief’s ‘this time~this space’ blog; Geoffrey’s  Place’s ‘Love’s Passage’ blog, and it is a running theme on Jennifer’s ‘Writing to Survive’ blog.  

Forgiveness has been a crucial element in my journey of recovery.  Forgiving myself has been the most difficult obstacle to overcome, which I believe is true for many of us who grew up with childhood abuse.  When you are told, from such an early age, that you are responsible for others’ despicable behaviors, you grow up with the weight of the world on your shoulders—you believe you are at fault and you blame yourself, even when it is not true. 

Overcoming my tendency to blame myself has been the most complicated process of my recovery.  I can even blame myself for the weather!  My husband often tells me that I should have been born Catholic—I have such deep-seated feelings of guilt. 

Through the past five years, in particular, I believe I have mostly come to terms with self-forgiveness, although my natural tendency is to be harder on myself than I should be.  I have also forgiven my mother, which was not easy to do for many years.  I struggled with the role she played in my father’s abuse of me but in the end, I have been able to see her mistakes as human frailties, similar to some of my own.  Moreover, I know my mother loves me more than anything and would do whatever she possibly could to help and support me, which she has done.  That she made mistakes—even bad ones—can be forgiven.  I love her very much and I have forgiven her.  Completely.  One of the greatest benefits of my recovery has been becoming less judgmental of her and others' mistakes because I have made so many colossal ones myself.

I have struggled far more with the idea of forgiving my father; in fact, I will be honest—to this date, I have not forgiven him.  I do not see forgiving him to be a necessary part of my journey.   Will I ever forgiven him?  That is doubtful,  although stranger things have happened. 

However, a huge difference exists between forgiving my mother and forgiving my father.  My mother has always loved me—this, I am certain of. She has verbalized her love since I can remember, yet more importantly, her actions have demonstrated her love, support, and joy in me in countless ways.  When my life was hopeless, she continued to express hope that I might be able to change; some part of her believed in me when just about everyone else had given up.  Early in my recovery, when I returned to Bozeman to start school at Montana State, she helped me every step of the way. Yes, my mother loves me and when someone loves you as my mother loves me, forgiveness is essential—it is the human way. 

Forgiveness is a gift—an act of love.  I do not love my father and today, I believe that I do not need to love or forgive him.   In fact, when I heard he was dead, I felt a huge amount of relief.  “Good,” I thought, “The old bastard is finally dead.”  The person you forgive must be worthy of forgiveness and I do not believe my father is. 

Does this make me a bad person?  No, I do not think it does.  I think it makes me a healthier and more realistic person.  I feel it was far more damaging to believe I needed to earn his love when in fact, that love could never be gained no matter what I did.  Forgiveness is a beautiful gift you bestow upon those important relationships in your life; those that are worth saving.  My relationship with my father was not ever worth saving and now that he is dead, I only feel a lingering sense of relief.

How important has forgiveness been in your life?

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