I feel bad putting my mom on blast, but this little snippet of her recent text message jumped out and smacked me in the face so hard that I felt compelled to drop everything and reflect on it the best way I know how.
That is, getting up out of bed at 2AM, pouring some coffee and pouring out my heart and soul on the internet.
I’ve expressed before how difficult it can be to measure progress in recovery, which is, to paraphrase a popular saying, an ultra-ultra-ultramarathon, as opposed to a sprint. Think: tortoise (versus hare), or better yet, stop-motion animation.
In the latter scenario, I’m arriving at the North Pole fresh off the boat from the Island of Misfit Toys, and my socialization process plays out in a series of painfully slow, nearly imperceptible movements that take forever to piece together and bring up to normal speed.Continue reading “Relationship”