Leaning Gently

I am growing to be quite a firm believer in the philosophy of, "Gently embracing the pain" or "Leaning gently into the pain." This hard, hard job of grieving the death of my son and the abrupt end of my retirement has been/is a rough ride, but the gentle embracing of the pain and confusion as it arises does seem to be helping to hold a steady course through the emotional gyrations of that rough ride. I'd still rather have my son and my life back, but I believe I am holding steady with what is available to me. Just believing. Reality checks welcome. Yesterday's "Fall into the Abyss" is still going, but the gentle embracing allows me to consolidate the pain far enough to set ^it^ aside for long enough to interact with the here and now, when needed.

So I tell myself. The meanest lies in the world are the ones I tell myself. *They* call me, Sheeba, Queen of De Nial for a reason. Don't you call my silk purse a sow's ear! ! !

Hubs started yesterday tempering my manic drive to have the furniture piece of the new house off the agenda. Let me check that item off the list, NOW! ! ! My hatred for shopping is what makes me a Make-do Artist. I'd far rather create a gypsy rig to get me through the moment than wander those thing aisles. Hubs knows this about me. He also knows about my rapid cycling mood swings. My years of support group participation have given me considerable evidence that the tells of a psychotic episode really are more evident from the outside than from the inside. In more recent years, I have grown considerable confidence in the notion that he really can read my mood swings better than I can. Since he quit trying to *fix me* with torque wrenches in my ears and plying votes of confidence in my management skills and begun allowing me to return the favor, we just might be in danger of turning that mutual awareness into an elegant dance.

The fact that we ended yesterday with 3 bedroom sets and a living room set on order makes me wonder if Bi-polar symptoms are contagious. Isn't that the very essence of Manic Spending? The over-spending never has been much of a symptom in my strictly personal psychobaggage car, but it's never too late to start. I amnae any longer an official member of the med-compliant BP club, but. . . Can we experiment with a few more med cocktails? Can I share those cocktails with Hubby?

Sarcasm aside, it mostly feels good to have that item off the list. Between the new house and new furniture, I am bracing myself for decades of buyer's remorse, but I'll deal with those regrets as they arise. I am already regretting the housekeeping demands attached to thing collections. I miss my road warrior simplicity. For now, I am reaching for simple gratitude that the docket is now cleared for using the remaining 9 days of winter vacation for settling operations into the new house in between sorely needed self-care.

Hubs and I are still sleeping in the old house. We are both rather pleased with how well it seems to be working to uncover our old life by moving the kid layers to the new house while we do our self-care, etc., here in the old house. The slop edges of over-use are still everywhere, but the foundations of our old life are still here and far less cluttered than they were a week ago.

Pasos chicos, fe grande y oraciones siempre.