A few months ago, Mark and I took the kids to a "sensory friendly" movie showing.  Autistic individuals, and others with sensory processing difficulties, can find a typical movie going experience overwhelming.  Movies are loud.  Theaters are dark and often crowded.  The screen is huge and the images on it are flickering and fast paced.  There are previews and commercials before the show that switch rapidly from one theme to another, while we wait impatiently for what we actually came to see.  Then when the movie does start, its story and situations are designed to evoke strong emotional responses: to scare or thrill or amaze us.  And did I mention they're LOUD?

Most of us go to the movies to be a little overwhelmed.  But for some people, all of that can be too much.  So, at sensory friendly showings, there are no previews.  The lights are dim, but the theater is not dark.  And the sound is turned down.  And not only that, it's ok to sing or talk or to get up and walk around, dance or jump if it all gets to be too much anyway.

At the showing we went to, some kids got up and paced the aisles.  Some rocked in their seats.  Some grunted or chirped.  My son commented on the movie at full voice.  (Whispering is only for secrets.)  And we all had a fun day out doing something different while nobody stared.  Nobody glared.  Nobody shifted uncomfortably in their seats and made little "hem" noises in their throats.  The air didn't buzz with electric hostility.  And nobody had to worry that, at any moment, it might.

I don't know about the other parents in that theater, but I felt like I'd been able to put down a hundred pound weight.  The kids and young adults in that theater could all be themselves, and we all understood.  No one said anything or did anything, but there was a palpable sense of acceptance in the air.  It hung there, invisible but enveloping, like the drowsy smell of honeysuckle on a warm afternoon.  What a relief.  Which made me realize just how guarded I am and how much weight, how much fear and tension and worry, I carry every day.

This past weekend, I went to a convention for my 12 Step group.  Hundreds of sex addicts and their partners or family members gathered in hotel conference rooms and ballrooms.  There were meetings and workshops and outings.  There were speakers who shared their experience, strength and hope.  At each banquet iced tea was served instead of alcohol.  No one gossiped about the latest infidelity scandal in the media.  People openly shared their pain and their weaknesses and their gratitude.  And all weekend long, I had nothing to do but connect with my Higher Power in a group of people who was supporting me in doing just that.  All weekend long, I felt I had nothing to worry about and nothing to fear.

Again that love and acceptance enveloped me.  Again that hundred pound weight dropped off my shoulders. Again the relief washed over me.  And again I realized just how guarded I am and how much weight, how much fear and tension and worry, I carry every day.

On the last day of the convention, I wept with gratitude for the gift of having been there.  (If you were one of the lovely ladies sitting around a hotel banquet table with me on Monday morning at breakfast, yes, that was me crying and smiling at you all crazy.) We were asked on that last day if we had picked up any burdens that we wanted to leave behind, and I couldn't think of any.  All I could think was that I needed to try not to reshoulder the burdens I'd set down when I entered.

A few days ago, a columnist I generally like wrote a satirical piece on sex addiction rehab (one I won't link to here, due to its triggering nature). He's a liberal columnist, so the comments were populated with lots of LOLs and virtual eye rolling at the concept of sex addiction as a creation of the religious right: people who are uptight about and don't know how to enjoy sex. There was lots of mocking of the "higher power" concept, lots of atheists sneering at the superstitious nonsense that is God.

Of course, the conservative flip side of the "sex addiction is a joke" coin is to sneer at therapists: people who are forever trying to write off weakness and lack of willpower as "diseases" in order to bilk people out of money.  Either way, treatment for sex addiction is seen as misguided and useless: so called "sex addicts" either "just" need to loosen up and learn to accept and enjoy their sexuality or "just" need to have more willpower and moral fortitude.

And either way, as someone married to a sex addict, it can be both hurtful and maddening to feel the world is ringed around us in a circle, pointing and laughing, saying that we've been duped when, for the first time, we feel we're seeing clearly. It's one of those things that is likely to draw me back into that crazy place I used to occupy: where, like a six-year-old, I yell "NO!" at someone else's "Yes!" only to have them yell "Yes!" back at me in an endless cycle; where I feel panicked and crazy, as if someone's telling me the sky is red when I see it's blue; where I spend my time and energy fruitlessly trying to convince someone else that they're wrong so that I can feel right again.

I wanted (desperately) to pull out my credentials and yell into the comments section, "Mark and I weren't some crazy, uptight religious fanatics who just couldn't embrace our sexuality!  And I'm not some uptight, frigid wife who can't please her man!  I was a really good atheist who really loves sex!"  As if the columnist, or any of the commenters, would read that and suddenly say, "Oh, some random stranger on the Internet says that wasn't her experience. Now I've totally changed my view on sex addiction!" rather than, "I bet she actually sucks in bed and her husband is an asshole."

Deep breath.  Step 1.  I am powerless over other people.  I am powerless to change their perceptions of me.  And trying to do so anyway makes my life unmanageable.  Followed by Step 2.  Help from that much maligned higher power.

I didn't leave the comment.  I stopped reading, made the column disappear in a flash of electrons with the click of my mouse and I did something I never used to do before.  I prayed.  "God, let me see the world through your eyes.  Let me not be threatened by people whose experiences are different.  When I mock others, I am usually scared and hurting.  In every place that this columnist and his readers are scared and hurting too, open their hearts to love and peace.  Help me on my journey, and help all of them follow the path they need to, so that we can find love and understanding for each other."

In the past, I wouldn't have prayed because my God is not a separate being who controls the world, but I've found that prayer isn't (as I used to think) some useless, crazy, superstitious ritual predicated on achieving results with the help of a supernatural power.  Prayer is a tool I use to ground myself, open my own heart and let go of my own pain, fear and anger.  Prayer is a way of connecting to my higher power, my better nature, my Buddha nature, the God part inside me.  Prayer is a way of feeling love and compassion and connection to others, rather than distance and anger and fear and resentment.  When I pray for someone who requests my prayers, it connects us, and lifts us both up.  When I pray (quietly, secretly) for someone who doesn't request it, it helps me love and forgive.  I've learned that even if prayer never produces any tangible results in the world, it's not useless -- not to me -- because the purpose isn't to change the world to get what I want, it's to help me be in line with and at peace with what is.

Over at Patheos, a few bloggers were asked to describe God in 100 words or "less" (It should be "fewer," but does God want me to nitpick about grammar in this case?  I don't know.  So I'm passive-aggressively nitpicking, just a little.) and some readers have joined in. I liked the idea and have decided to leave my own offering here. 

I do it somewhat guiltily, because as long as I've known and loved my blogger friend Velvet Verbosity, I've never actually participated in one of her 100 Word Challenges, and yet here I am participating in someone else's. In my defense, I didn't get creative with this, I merely edited down a previous post to see if I could capture my God in a word nutshell. Turns out, I can. Now if I could get this down to one clever sentence...

My God is:
An idea.
Love, beauty, kindness, compassion, truth.
Evolution; physics; the scientific method.
The Buddhist truth of impermanence and science's first law of thermodynamics (which states energy can neither be created nor destroyed): everything changes, yet continues in some new form.
The energy of life: the heart beating, the neurons firing, the breath.
The connection between all living things.
Starlight, bones and dog-earred pages.
The dark, astonishing part of me that my best words (and the best of me) come out of.
In everything, yet not fully in anything.
Always in these words and never in these words.

For the past year and a half, I have been a regular contributor at the recovery website The Second Road. I learned today that The Second Road will cease operations this month. The content will remain available but unfortunately the site will not be regularly maintained. I am grateful to The Second Road for introducing me to many wonderful people and allowing me to share my journey more widely than through my blog alone, and tonight I drink a nice sober toast (of sparkling apple cider) to all the folks over there.

While I'm saddened, I'm also excited to spend some time right here, tinkering around behind the scenes, maybe answering some of those (ahem) year-old messages piled up in my inbox and of course, writing.

I had a dream last night that I was in a temple and one wall was a curio cabinet filled with tiny statues. I was in a group of people and as we filed past the cabinet, we were each supposed to choose a figure to serve as our spiritual guide and protector. I choose a figure seated in meditation, carved from purple stone. It sat above a small white label with black type that read: "Ananda." When I left the temple, I found I had forgotten to take the figure with me, and I felt lost, until I remembered that in choosing it, it was with me always. And what do you know? Today turned out to be (like every day) a day of losing and finding, of forgetting and remembering. This old room of mine is still here, open like a flower, and I'm ready for whatever the universe has in store for me next.

My husband Mark, I have to admit it, hates fish. And people fish evangelize him all the time. I used to too, in my pre-vegetarian days, when a trip to the aquarium would make me hungry. The problem, you see, is never that people were different and have different needs and tastes; the problem is that Mark has never had "good" fish. "You've never tried really fresh fish. You haven't tried this fish; it's not a fishy fish. You haven't tasted fish the way I make it. You haven't been eating fish the right way. Try this. You'll like it." But he hasn't. Fish just doesn't work for everybody, but there are lots of other things in the world to eat. In my family, there's no one path to good food.

I've had the same experience with religion. I had bad experiences with Christianity growing up; it's just not a good fit for me. And I've had people evangelize me over the years: "You've never tried my church. It's not like your church. You haven't been to the right kind of church. You don't really understand what Christianity is about. You haven't been approaching it the right way. Try this. You'll like it." But I haven't. Fortunately, there are a lot of other belief sets and practices in the world (from Hinduism to atheism) that allow people to connect to something beyond themselves, and to practice many universally beautiful principles, in a way that does work for them. In my experience, there's no one path to the good and the divine.

And I've been thinking of this recently, as I've encountered a few situations where I want to (or have) 12 Step evangelized. When a book says Al-Anon is bunk as it repackages powerlessness as powerfulness, or when an article says that addicts need to look into the origins of their addiction and claims that it's psychotherapy and not 12 Step that does that, I start saying all of those same things: "You don't get it. You're not approaching it the right way. If you really understood the concepts, you'd see that what you're talking about is already included in 12 Step. Give it a chance. You'll see it does have what you want and need."

But 12 Step doesn't work for everyone, not even me or my husband. It's been a part of our toolkit, but we've used it in conjunction with other therapies and spiritual practices. My husband can recognize that fish has lots of excellent nutrients, but that they just aren't presented in a way that is most palatable to him. I can recognize that Christianity incorporates the principles I hold most dear, yet they aren't presented in a way that works for me. And while I can see that 12 Step has great tools, they aren't presented in a way or in language that works for everyone. Nothing does. There's no one path to recovery. Fortunately, there are lots of different foods and religions and recovery programs that give us all those same basic nutrients — whether they support our physical, spiritual or mental health — in a way that works for each of us as individuals. And for that, I am grateful.

Two years ago, I gave up on New Year's resolutions.  What do those ever lead to but disappointment anyway?  Maybe I keep them, but mostly I don't.  And when I don't, I feel like a failure.  So, I picked a single word as my intention for the year instead.  Since I was feeling down at the time, the word I picked for 2008 was "happy." And what do you know, 2008 was happy!

As 2008 drew to a close, I picked another word.  The word for 2009 was "God." And I'm pleased to report that this really was a year of growing spirituality:

• I started attending 12 Step meetings again and reworking the Steps with a Step group of wonderful women.
• I meditated and prayed more this year than any other in my life, which included spending time on a short spiritual retreat.
• I instituted my own Sabbath, a day each week focused on rest and spirituality.
• I even, although I didn't write about it here for anonymity reasons, celebrated my birthday with a special dedication to God.

Wow.  Since this whole word thing has been working out pretty well, it's time to pick a focus for 2010.  And this year's word is (drum roll, please):

HEALTH

Yep, this year I will be focusing on my health.  I plan to continue working on my mental, emotional and spiritual health as always, but I'm hoping to concentrate especially on my much neglected physical health.  I am not setting any specific goal.  No "I'm going to lose 10 pounds" or "I'm going to stop drinking soda."  I'm just going to see where the word "health" takes me.  Hopefully to more exercise, eating better and regular doctor's visits, but we'll see.  I'm open and ready.

Hope you all have a wonderful, happy, healthy New Year! Do you have an intention — or any good old fashioned resolutions? Leave a comment. I'd love to hear about them.

After really struggling last week between my need to sleep and my desire not to sleep, I decided that this week on my day of spirituality I would spend one day throwing out my to do list and letting go of all the things I "should" do in favor of whatever came to me in the moment.

So after I got the kids off to school, I thought, "I should exercise, but I'd like to sit down and pet the cat and look out the window."  So I sat down with the cat and just relaxed.  Every now and then a thought would come to me and I'd worry about when I should get up or what I should do next.  I told myself that I would know when I knew.  And I sat petting the cat until I was done and it felt like time to go lie down and take a nap.  So I took a nap.  And when I woke up, I didn't quite want to get out of bed yet, so I stayed in bed, trying to trust that I would get up when the time was right.

And when my daughter was finished with school, she wanted to play outside.  So I went outside.  And as I stood there watching her play, I thought, "This day feels so much better than last week.  What if I lived every day this way?  Just doing the next right thing and trusting that I'd know when to do it..."  Which I followed immediately with the thought, "But then nothing would ever get done!"  And I realized that I was fine trusting God to take care of rest and relaxation, but I did not trust God when it came to getting work done.  Sure, God could help me relax and pet a cat, but I didn't feel God was going to be there when it came to getting the dishes done or cleaning the bathroom, which was quite a lesson and one I need more than ever at this time of year.  I hope I can take at least some of that into the coming weeks with me.

Did you do anything this week? Share in the comments or post a link to a blog post in Mister Linky below. And if you want to join in and change one aspect of your life for one day, click over to my introductory post to get more information and a badge.

"I don't want to get up and I don't want to go to school!" my daughter Janie yelled when she heard me chime "Time to get up!" this morning.  ("Well, maybe tonight you will go to sleep on time so you won't be tired tomorrow," I found myself muttering, then added mentally, "And I won't either.")

It was a battle to get Janie's clothes on and a battle to get her out the door.  At the time we ought to be leaving the house, she was clothed, but still hadn't eaten breakfast.  ("I don't want to eat, because I don't want to go to school!")  I weighed the odds and decided just to give up on trying to make the bus and drive her today.  So I plopped her in the back of the car with a piece of toast and we headed off to school, where she managed to run in just in time (and in a considerably better mood after having grudgingly eaten the toast in the car).

On my drive home, a little bird darted out from the side of the road and began to take flight just as I drove past.  There was no time for it or for me to react and it hit my front bumper with a sickening thud.  I stopped and watched, wondering "What should I do?" as it thrashed for just a moment and then lay still before I had time to answer my own question.

On any other day, that bird could have flown low over the street and my car would not have been there to hit it.  If I had decided to try to have Janie catch the bus today (which she might have, though it would have been close), my car would not have been there to hit it.  If Mark had gotten Janie to bed earlier while I was out last night or if I had not gone out and put her to bed myself, maybe she would not have been so cranky this morning and I wouldn't have been on the road.  Or maybe the car behind me would have startled the bird and hit it instead if I hadn't been there.  My little decisions — my small, seemingly random, actions — affect so many other things, but I don't always know how and why.

Last night, while Mark was trying to wrangle Janie in to bed, I was attending a talk by a Zen Buddhist who said, "Things are.  There is a reason that they are.  But we do not know the reason, only that they are and that there is a reason."  There is special providence in the fall of a sparrow.  I want to know what it is, but it's enough to know that it is.

Earlier this month, I decided I was going to set aside one day each week for spirituality and health, a sort of personal Sabbath.  I picked a day of the week and made some rules for myself and set about my spiritual experiment. This week will be my fourth "Sabbath," and while three weeks is hardly enough to see substantial change, I have noticed some interesting things.

1. It's hard to break out of my routine and not do my usual work. It's like the first time I sat in meditation and was there for about fifteen seconds and thought, "Ok, is this over yet? Can I get up now and do something?" I feel like there are all of these Really Important Things I should be taking care of and I get anxious and jittery about them. Which brings me to...
2. There are no Really Important Things that I must do right now.  When I turn my computer back on on Thursdays, the world hasn't ended.  There haven't been thousands of items clamoring for my attention.  Everything was just fine waiting a day, and in fact, very few people even noticed that I was off-line at all.  In spite of this, I still worry that this is going to be the week that there really will be something earth shattering in its importance dropping into my inbox.
3. I use sugar to self-medicate my stress.
4. I haven't felt any closer to God. And because of this, I've realized that I expected to have some transcendent spiritual moments on my Wednesdays, especially given that I am spending much more time in prayer and meditation than on a normal day.  But I haven't experienced those moments.  So far my Wednesdays have felt like any other day (minus sugar and electronics).  I'm not making a judgment on that, just sitting with it and noticing what my expectations were and what the reality is.
5. The day after my Sabbath is wonderful. So far, while my Wednesdays themselves have had difficult moments and have lacked anything overtly transcendent, they have acted as a reset button for my habits and my week.  The day after I'm a little more relaxed and a little more likely to do little things to take care of myself that I overlook at other times.

I've learned a little more and a little something different each week, so I intend to continue the practice of setting aside Wednesdays for spirituality and continue to observe how it goes.