It was planned with exacting certitude this late winter trip to southern Florida. I had to pull away from the magnetic field that was pulling me counterclockwise down a hole I’ve already been down before on a different day, in a different decade. I knew that I didn’t get sober to be unhappy and I had to find out where my true feelings lay. Has my patience run out with my stepson? Do I still love my wife? What am I doing, where am I going?
I have allowed the situation at home to become muddled and I have failed to detach in a healthy and loving way. The result was three viral infections in a row including two bronchial asthmatic attacks. Some have pointed to the Petri dish of my spin classes but I am convinced that my failure to make boundaries with my stepson and even my wife have in essence brought down the house on my own head. I take full responsibility as an enabler and hostage taker. I too have become a willing prisoner in a home of dysfunction. Trust me this is a good flock, but my shepherding days have to end and end quickly if I am to find myself all in one piece. I cannot continue to live my life based on sentiment and whether I hurt someone else’s feelings or not. The emotional pull of guilt has lost its attraction, and if it were not for my own distractions I would probably find myself headed for the exit. Maybe I have already left.
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