The Good Little Girl

 I started having issues with my bladder about a year ago.

At first, I wasn’t even sure if the problem was my bladder or my pelvic area. We tried different medications and even steroid injections, but the discomfort continued to worsen.

It was uncomfortable, but it wasn’t unbearable.

That changed when I agreed to have bladder instillations.

A catheter was inserted into my bladder and medication was placed directly inside.

What I didn’t understand at the time was how deeply those visits would affect me.

They were traumatic.

Not simply because of the physical discomfort.

Something much deeper was being stirred.

I began to recognize feelings that seemed older than the procedure itself.

Fear.

Helplessness.

The feeling that I had to be still.

That I had to cooperate.

That I had to be a good little girl.

And suddenly, I began to wonder if my body was remembering something my conscious mind could not fully remember.

I had spent my childhood learning how to be good.

Good meant obeying.

Good meant not making trouble.

Good meant doing what I was told.

Good meant tolerating things that frightened me.

Good meant staying quiet.

And perhaps that little girl never really learned that she was allowed to say:

No.

She never learned that she could protect herself.

She never learned that her discomfort mattered.

So when I found myself in that doctor’s office, vulnerable and unable to control what was happening to my body, something inside me felt very small again.

The good little girl was back.

And maybe this is part of what I am being asked to understand now:

She doesn’t have to be good anymore.

She doesn’t have to endure everything.

She doesn’t have to obey fear.

She doesn’t have to stay quiet.

She can speak.

She can say no.

And most importantly—

she has me now.

A Season to Surrender

 Today is the first day of September.

There was a tiny bit of coolness in the air—

just enough to remind me

that a new season is coming.

And perhaps this is my new season too.

A season of letting go.

Letting go of the past.

Letting go of the need to understand everything

that happened to me.

I know there are things I may never figure out.

And maybe I don’t need to.

I don’t need every answer

to heal.

What I need to do is stay close

to the little girl inside me.

To reassure her:

You are safe now.

You don’t have to live in the past anymore.

And I will always be here.

Maybe surrender isn’t forgetting what happened.

Maybe it’s simply deciding

that what happened then

doesn’t have to determine what happens now.

The past had its season.

Now a new one is beginning.

And I’m ready to let go

of what I can no longer change,

and gently walk into

what comes next.

Too Many Rules

 My parents had rules for everything.

Everything except themselves.

I learned very early to be a rule follower.

I knew that if I broke the rules in our home, there would be hell to pay.

So I learned to be careful.

To make sure I didn’t make a mistake.

And I carried that way of living with me into adulthood.

There were rules I followed without even realizing they were rules.

And if I thought I had broken one—even accidentally—I could feel threatened by it.

As though punishment might still be waiting.

What a heavy burden that is for a child to carry.

And even heavier when she grows up

and continues carrying it.

For years, I thought following the rules meant I was being responsible.

Now I’m beginning to wonder how much of it was fear.

Fear of getting it wrong.

Fear of consequences.

But I’m learning that adulthood comes with something childhood didn’t give me:

Choices 

I get to decide what matters.

I get to make mistakes without believing I’m in danger.

And perhaps most importantly,

I get to create my own rules for living—

rules built on love rather than fear.

Be kind.

Give myself grace.

And remember that I don’t have to be perfect to be safe.

Maybe it’s time to put down those old rules.

They were never mine to begin with.

Half Measures Avail Us Nothing

 Today, the pain is ramped up high.

And on a day like this, I have to remember what it took for me to get sober.

And what it took for me to find my way into Al-Anon.

Both times, there was a lot of pain.

More pain than I ever imagined I could carry.

I never dreamed I would work as hard as I did in both programs.

But I did.

I’ve surprised myself over and over again.

In the beginning, I was motivated by pain.

But somewhere along the way, something changed.

I became motivated by desire.

I wanted to heal.

I wanted to understand myself.

And I came to deeply love both programs and the gifts they have given me.

I love sharing what I’ve learned with others.

Now, here I am again.

Another kind of pain.

Another place where I’m being asked to look deeper.

I have a feeling that this pain may be pushing me toward another kind of healing.

I don’t know exactly what that will look like yet.

But I know one thing about myself:

I don’t do well with half measures.

When I finally decide to walk through a door, I walk through it.

So perhaps this is another doorway.

Another opportunity to surrender.

Another opportunity to learn.

And another chapter in a journey I never expected to take.

I’ll be talking more about that in the chapters to come.