Friday, November 28, 2025

#Recovery, My Own, For Me

 


Recovery, the very word itself, is as a foreign language to those not participating in their own journeys.  An individual not ready to admit how the choices of their lives are negatively impacting them will find themselves at odds with the one seeking guidance out of their craziness.  Added to that,  seeing one break free from destruction may cause a conviction upon the other not in recovery, who therein reacts with anger and tactics to undermine the healer in attempt to get them to re-join the toxic pathway.



I have been on a journey of recovery since 2006 when I was first diagnosed with Bipolar 1.  In those early days, I found myself fearful of the label yet clung to it for some hope of answer.  I felt isolated from others due to my own doing as well as being surrounded by those not suffering from the throes of mental illness.  The term "mental illness" or any of its various diagnoses felt foreign and a death sentence.  In 2008, I found NAMI and other forms of support groups, low income therapy, and throughout left the feeling of isolation and began the recovery journey.

However, being part of a fundamentalist "evangelical" worldview plus not yet working on my codependent rescuing, left me with the inability to not make recovery about myself, leaving the others journeys their own.  I attempted multiple times, throughout all of my life but especially in the early days of recovery, to TELL people their issues, what was wrong, with the hopes of assisting only to be met with resistance, anger, loss of friendship.  

As time wore on further, I used this 'rescuing' and the knowledge earned from my insatiable desire to learn all things, that being psychology in recovery, as a means to set boundaries.  Labeling another to their face with a diagnosis was not acceptable according to my position.  Setting boundaries is not about fixing or changing the other, even punishing the other, it's caring for oneself in affirming how one's desire for respect.

Furthermore, setting boundaries is an act of love for oneself and others.  Recovery, in itself, is not about the other but the self healing.  In my journey at present, I seek to maintain the focus on myself, how others affect me, not to punish or change them, but how I may care for myself and assist in my soul's evolution.  Not to say that I am completely perfect in this self-work, that would defect the point of recovery (See Step One), rather I daily choose to come back to myself.  In the world of recovery, we say "progress not perfection".  For I cannot know truly what is in the mind of another, nor can they know mine, I can only choose to act in integrity of self love, doing my best to not react to toxicity, but also learning to stand for myself with an unshakable voice and inner stability. 

Never do I seek to close myself in the impacting of boundaries to the opportunity of healthy, honest conversations with those still in the throes of their own pain, but I do not pressure them in word or deed, force them into healing, rather as I focus on self, I put my assurance that truly others journey towards discovery of self is found in 'attraction, not evangelism".


In my recovery 
I’m a soldier at war 
I have broken down walls
 I defined 
I designed 
My recovery

Keep soaring 
Keep song-writing
 Keep soaring 
Keep song-writing
 My recovery




Thursday, November 27, 2025

Finding Gratitude In The Nostalgia #thanksgiving #gratitude #alltoowell

 


As I sit here on the other side of my Thanksgiving feast, thankful for the meal my partner so lovingly toiled over while himself feeling under the weather, I find myself in the repose of nostalgia.  Yesterday, as I busied myself with the doings of work and errands, my eyes fell on my other city dwellers as they made the same movements.  All the while, my mind was swirling with the memories flooding of Thanksgiving past, all of my life rushing upwards upon me in a wonder of brilliant clarity.  

Most notably, I am recalling how as a high schooler, the day following the turkey feast, I'd board a YMCA bus and head forth to the Pacific Regional Conference, a teen camp held over the Thanksgiving holiday during the nineties(my youth).  Excited I was for the experience and more importantly for the reuniting with my summer camp friends who I had not seen for three whole months...(laughable now when I count the decades of our absence from each other, if only we had a PRC now).  My mind flutters forward like the flickering of a slide show and I'm a college student finding my way home for the Thanksgiving feast, the airplane and bus ride back to my childhood bedroom, seeing the high school friends as we converse over beers milling where we are now, feeling somehow old in our early twenties, the warm feast around the dining room table, my mother's home cooked meal so vivid to me in the wake of losing her...

It all leads me to fall into the myriad maze of the "whatifs" of past misgivings.  The moments that were almost but then were not.  As I rode the bus to the YMCA camp, I tried whatever I could to seem aloof from the boy I maintained an active crush throughout our summer camp years only to have him return in our twenties to drunkenly profess his infatuation, then a moment at a cafe one cold December in 2004 that was an "almost but was not".  What if it had not been an almost but an actuality, I ask myself nearly to the brink of despair.

Then again, with the passing of my mother, I find myself nostalgic for the moments of my college angst-filled self making her way home for the Thanksgiving meal and weekend, all that transpired during those times.  The moments before the feast, during, after, bringing the new romantic partner home for the first time to meet the family and the nervousness behind such doing, the catching up with siblings, aunts, uncles, cousins, the warm heart gathering from sleeping in late in your childhood bedroom, the reconnection with high school classmates...

As I walked through the grocery stores, I saw others busy with their preparing and felt a connection, seeing in them the nostalgic memory of past thanksgivings similar to mine.  In the darkness of the times we find ourselves, where division seems the given, finding the moment to delve into nostalgia recognizing our similarities within.  That is my gratitude.  

Autumn leaves falling down like pieces into place 
And I can picture it after all these days 
And I know it’s long gone and that magic’s not here no more 
And I might be ok but I’m not fine at all… 
Cause there we are again on that Little town street 
You almost ran the red 
Cause you were looking over at me 
Wind in my hair, 
I was there 
I remember it all too well

Friday, November 21, 2025

How We Thrive: Author Ruth Wire "Never Give Up" #thrivingartists


Ruth Wire Playwright, Author Ruth Wire is an award-winning playwright, screenwriter, and poet. She also is a published short story writer and has written a radio play. Most of her stage plays have had productions and she has one script writing credit. With a composer, she has written over one-hundred song lyrics and produced a musical. She has published four novels and is working on her fifth, available for purchase on Amazon. She is a retired RN. She is divorced, widowed, has three children, and one grandchild. For more about Ruth, visit www.ruthwire.com

Tuesday, September 30, 2025

Journaling Thru The Years, Ep. 103: Happy Little Child #relivewithme #jo...


In this episode, I share two prose like entries from my college years and discuss or rather laugh at some of the silly symbolism....others I remark are actually kinda pretty. Links mentioned in video: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Gd9U3Dm442E&t=5s https://gofund.me/f5bc61a5

Friday, September 5, 2025

"Where There Is Hope, There Is Life" ~~Interview with author, Climate Mo...


Have you watched yet? Learn about the Climate Monologues!

Support our efforts to bring this necessary play to the Southern Oregon stage!