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My Recovery and Healing Mainframe.
> life_of_every_party.ps1
> death_of_every_relationship.ps1> recovery.ps1> healing.ps1> love.ps1"If you could kick the person in the pants responsible for most of your trouble, you wouldn’t sit for a month."-Theodore Roosevelt
This week, I finally stopped arguing with permanence. Not the things I can change—I know that dance well—but the things I can’t. Chronic conditions. Lifelong diagnoses. Bodies and brains that don’t magically “turn around” if I just try harder. In IFS terms, I hit a trailhead where perfection, fear, shame, and denial were all standing…
Emotional urges can hijack the wheel fast. You know the choice won’t help, you see the outcome coming—and sometimes you do it anyway. For me, that looks like food that spikes my blood sugar. Tonight, I didn’t use a skill I know works: Opposite Action. And I’m living with the consequence. But this isn’t about…
I was diagnosed with Bipolar I in 2007, but the truth is my war with myself started long before that—shaped by childhood trauma, military exposure, toxic relationships, and years of survival-mode coping. I lost jobs, housing, stability, and nearly my sense of self. What changed wasn’t a miracle cure. It was ownership. I got sober.…
Almost 8 days. Then anxiety won, Roxy showed up, and I burned one down. My body hated it. Pulse in the low 100s, miserable, high, and uncomfortable for hours. I also injured my ankle trying to walk the anxiety out beforehand. Cowboy talked me off the shame ledge and reminded me I’m doing my best.…
I grew up hearing “big boys don’t cry” and “shut up or I’ll give you something to cry about.” Turns out, so did a guy with two professor parents and a “Leave it to Beaver” childhood. Same message, different delivery. Same result: shame baked in so deep it ran my life for decades. Tonight I…