A Flippin' Miraculous Transformation

The other day, I found a poem I wrote in 2011. I had no recollection of writing the poem. I read it and my jaw dropped, for many reasons. One, it's really weird that I remember nothing of it. Second, I have almost forgotten what it's like to be in that place. Third, it was a blaring indicator of my progress; the miracle of me.

I share now the poem with you:

Lucky Her

"She killed herself," she whispered
Of her friend who died last night.
Then with frosted lenses, she said, "no,
"Depression killed her.
"She died from depression."
When I should have been sad for her,
I was jealous of her friend
Because I have to wake tomorrow
And go to work
Carrying my sins from place to place
Sleepless
Senseless
But that girl who died last night-
She's free.
She'll never choose wrong again.

8.10.11

Three years ago. That came out of my brain and heart and soul three years ago.

I beat myself up frequently for taking so long to "recover." It's so difficult for me to see day-to-day progress. But finding this reminded me of something I'd almost forgotten: the imprisoning darkness and despair of sin-bred hopelessness. I'd almost forgotten, but I remember now. I felt this way frequently. I'd be better off dead. My kids deserved a righteous mother. I'm a disgrace to my family. I'm a burden to the world. Hopeless.

I was blind to hope.

I want to go back to myself then and give me a hug and say, "don't you worry! You matter. Jesus will rescue you. There is hope in abundance all around you! Accept the hope. Forgive yourself. Accept yourself. I love you."

Three years ago, I was so excited to make it to 30 days of abstinence. In 2011, I think I accomplished that twice. Maybe once. It's a different world now.

I do think, still, that my progress has been slow. Many addicts in recovery have reached their abstinence and recovery goals by this point, by a long shot. But, I can't deny the progress. I am surrounded by light and hope! I am surrounded by grace and mercy! And I see that and know that, every day, now. I can't remember the last time I really wanted to escape addiction by escaping life.

The Addiction Recovery Program is a miracle. Using it, Jesus has made me a miracle. Using it, I have come to know my Savior better, and His astonishing, dumbfounding, propelling love for me. For years, I was trying so hard to recover on my own because it never really occurred to me that I couldn't recover on my own. And then I found this program, where Step 1 is, basically, "I can't recover on my own." The program gave me the tools I needed to understand addiction, understand the Atonement, understand grace, and understand myself. The weekly meetings are a constant feed of hope and encouragement. Yeah, sure, it's been a long time and I still slip! I used to believe that my slow progress meant I'm this horrible person who just can't get it right, but do you know what it really means? It really means that Jesus wants me to recover. Jesus wants to heal me. Chance after chance after chance, He gives me. Forever. All the while, He's there, leading and guiding and whispering beautiful truths and comforts, and slowly I let His words sink in and allow myself to believe them. "I love you. You are worthy of recovery. You matter. You are important. I want you with me. You are not your addiction. I'm here. I came to free you. Please, Stephanie, let me free you."

I may not have come a long way since yesterday, and I may be taking longer than your regular addict to break free, but, dang, look at that poem from 2011, and look at me now. Leaps and bounds. That was a lifetime ago. I don't subscribe to that philosophy anymore, the philosophy of hopelessness. I know better, now. I'm different. Jesus has changed my character. This, He has done for me:

"The Lord works from the inside out. The world works from the outside in. The world would take people out of the slums. Christ takes the slums out of people, and then they take themselves out of the slums. The world would mold men by changing their environment. Christ changes men, who then change their environment. The world would shape human behavior, but Christ can change human nature." (President Ezra Taft Benson)

He has changed my very nature, my friends, and I know He will continue to do so as I allow Him to. I am so changed that I cannot fathom ever again believing that I do not have access to hope, forgiveness, grace and mercy. I know better because He has taught me personally.

My Brother, my Savior, my Jesus has fetched me out of the darkness and He is nursing me back to health. My eyes are still adjusting to the light, and so He gives it to me bit my bit. He has snatched me out of the dark forests of fear where wolves hunt and devour. I was His lost sheep that strayed from the 99, and He came after me. I think I am finally tired of running from Him. I think I am finally willing and ready to follow Him back to the fold. Every step. No matter how long it takes. No matter how rocky the path. I know that I can do all things through Him who gives me strength. I know that He is always here for me, with me, pleading for me and with me, weeping for me and with me, always always in my reach.

My new focus for recovery is simply trusting Him. It is no longer abstinence. Abstinence will be a natural reward of trusting my Redeemer.

How I love Him! The very thought of His blessed name fills my heart up with glorious sweetness and gratitude. I am His, and so I rest, and hope, in Him.

Everyone Except Me

I once heard an ARP facilitator state that addicts commonly suffer from "terminal uniqueness." I think it's an AA-coined term, and it's interesting to me, because I know I've certainly suffered from many overdoses of uniqueness. Some of the concepts that I actually believe in moments of excessive uniqueness are, "I deserve this because . . . " "My situation is different because . . ." "I'm excused because . . ." "My bad choice in this scenario was made out of circumstantial duress, and no one else could ever really get it. Anyone in this situation would have made this choice."

Just as damaging as the "I'm excused because I'm special" beliefs, are the "everyone except for me" beliefs.

When I was in Young Women, several Young Women leaders would say things like, "I love each and every one of you." Immediately, I would think and believe, "everyone except me." How could she love me? She doesn't even know me. I'm not as cool as the other girls. She's not talking about me when she says that, but for sure, everyone else. I would neatly and abruptly excuse myself from all positive group statements. "Everyone is welcome to my pool party," meant, clearly, "everyone except Stephanie." "You have all taught me something," meant, "Everyone here except Stephanie has taught me something." "You're all beautiful," except Stephanie. "You're all talented." except Stephanie. "You have something to offer this world," except, clearly, Stephanie. This didn't just happen in YW, of course, but everywhere a general statement was made. Seminary. Sacrament Meeting. Family Home Evening. The scriptures. General Conference. Everyone except me.

I even believed that Jesus atoned for everyone except me. My sins were too bad. He didn't mean me, ever. I even figured that when He was suffering in the Garden, He just didn't complete it for me because it wasn't worth it.

How arrogant!! If I'd only known how arrogant I was! How absurd and unkind!

But then one day, we had a substitute seminary teacher. Her name was Sister Woolstenhulme, and I really liked her. She was lively and hilarious, and seemed to really understand teenage angst. Well, on this day, she was reaching me on a personal level.

"Do you ever feel like no one gets it?" she asked.
Well, yeah.
"I mean, no one could really understand you."
yeah.
"No one has it as bad as you."
I KNOW!
"No one besides you has ever experienced the hardships you have."
Seriously. It's so sad.
"Nobody gets it, right? Everybody else has this great life and they have no idea you're even there."
Sing it, sister.
"Do you ever feel totally ignored?"
yep.
"Do you ever feel abandoned?"
Yes.
"Aren't you just . . . so . . . totally alone? Everyone else around you has these great gifts, everyone else around you is smothered in love, but not you? Or that Jesus couldn't have suffered for you because your sins were too terrible?"
OH MY GOSH, YES! (I was near tears, now.)
"Well, listen carefully."
I was.
"STOP IT."
Wait. What?
"Who do you think you are? You're not that special."

She talked on, but all I heard was, "You're not that special," over and over in my mind. I became fully aware in that moment that by excluding myself, I was actually making myself more special than everyone else. I was the special one, if no-one-but-me was true. I was, in essence, putting myself above all the other people under the pretense that I was putting myself beneath them. I was setting myself apart in a way that no one had given me permission to do. I was making myself the uniquest one of all. Who did I think I was? I wasn't that special!

From that day, I started trying to accept that Jesus' sacrifice was for me, too. Honestly, I still struggle with accepting blanket statements of love, but now that I'm older, it's easier. I love each of my primary kids, I truly do. Even if I don't know them well, I love them so much. So I try to accept group compliments as self compliments, now.

This is not to say I do not suffer from terminal uniqueness, because I do. Sometimes, I feel like my addiction makes me special. I feel like being an addict means I have certain entitlements (please). I sometimes feel like I was just the special kind of person to need a sexual addiction in order to learn to love and depend on the Savior (please, like I'm so dang pure and good and righteous without it that I needed something extra sinful in order to qualify me for the Atonement). I sometimes feel like I get a pass on normal obligations because, darn it, addiction recovery is hard. I sometimes feel like I'm the sickest of the sick (read: the uniquest of the sick), the most challenged recoverer yet. Every addict except for me has an easier time recovering. (gag.)

Even though I still take upon myself extra privileges and excuses just because I'm a addict, I have learned and am learning that I am covered by the grace of our Savior; that He suffered for all and for me; that He loves all and me with a perfect, infinite, powerful love, because I'm not so special that He would come for the entire world, except Stephanie. No, I'm just exactly special enough. I'm His. I have been redeemed. Me. You. Everyone including Stephanie. Oh, how He loves me.