What to do when you fall through a spiritual hole: Back to basics

Earlier this week, I fell through a spiritual hole, and found myself emptying the bathroom garbage, thinking, Maybe I won’t go out with my husband tonight, and instead I’ll just stay home and research ways to kill myself.

The bottom had dropped out for me. Maybe you, like me, find yourself falling through a hole sometimes and wonder how exactly do I get out?

Before you start emailing me the suicide hotline number, I need to tell you, this is something I’ve dealt with for a long time – these feelings are familiar to people who have experienced developmental trauma, or the trauma of experiencing addiction. I’m grateful that I’ve learned a lot of strategies to intervene and to help myself reconnect, with God, with people who love me, and with myself.

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I think I owe you an apology

I heard from a reader who took issue (in a very kind way) with the tone of my writing – she said, basically, that I write as if I have something and you, the reader, have nothing. That I’m going to offer my something to you, and that I’m going to help you. She asked me some really clear questions, from a place of immense generosity, and she also specifically took issue with the idea that I was going to help.

So, I need to apologize.

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Perfectly Imperfect: Good Enough for God

I’ve felt out on a limb lately. For months now. And it feels good sometimes – exhilarating, but then it feels crushing at other times. You know, for some of us, it feels crushing just to be seen. 

I make this mistake and I think I need to get myself together before I can be seen. I need to lose weight, I need to be younger, I need to be smarter, and better read, and have better taste. Really, I just need to BE BETTER.

This feeling that it’s unsafe to show up in the world as I am is a clue that I’m feeling unpresentable before God, too.

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No shame: God, decluttering, and letting go

Last week, I spent three hours decluttering my bookshelves. I culled four grocery bags of books to sell or donate. Many of the books were arty, french novels or experimental novels from my time in grad school.

It was hard to let go of the arty french novels and keep the more banal novels that I have actually loved. It was hard to let go of something that used to be important to me, but that I never really loved.

When we let go of our old stuff, what are we really letting go of? 

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Why be honest, anyway?

It’s hard to be honest, and it’s scary. I don’t want to tell you about my past – the alcoholism, the drug abuse, the self-harm. And worse, you guys. I don’t even know you well enough to tell you all of it. Why would you want to hear it anyway?

And why would I tell?

Why tell these things that make me so remarkably, perfectly, imperfect? Why tell these things that put me right square in the middle of everyone who has ever disappointed themselves – which is to say, everyone?

Why tell the truth, anyway?

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The secret I often don’t realize I have

I’m going to tell you guys a secret. The weird thing is I often don’t even realize I have this secret. It’s so secret that it’s secret from me.

I make this mistake about God, about life. About the GOOD LIFE.

The first mistake is, I still think if I could only do what God wanted me to do, then I would have no problems and I would do everything right. That I would never be hassled by daily life. That I would always have this amazing customer service experience everywhere I go.

I think IF I WERE DOING LIFE RIGHT, then I would always be energetic, and have lots of extra money. I think all the people in my life would behave just AMAZINGLY and I would not feel the need to sort them out in my head.

I make this mistake and believe that if I was only doing it right, doing life right, then I wouldn’t need God. I think that anytime I need God, it’s because something has GONE WRONG.

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20 things that don’t work and 1 thing that does

For as long as I can remember, something just seemed wrong. And there were a lot of things wrong -- my dad’s drunk friends on our couch, not enough money to pay the cable bill or the newspaper boy, the secrets about our family that my mom whispered to me while dad sat in the living room, reading the paper while he waited for the game to start.

But as I grew up and built my own life, there was still this feeling. I married a great person. I went to a great graduate school. I made money. And yet, something just felt wrong. It must be me, I figured. I must be the thing that’s wrong.

As humans, we have a longing -- a longing for love, for belonging, for attention. 

Anyone who’s ever been married knows the heartbreak that comes with realizing that no one person can really fulfill this longing. No one person can be everything to us. We have to find something else.

This longing is a God-sized hole. 

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What to Do When You’ve Done All You Can: Put It In the God Box

What do you do when you have a problem you just can’t solve? You’ve tried and you’ve tried and you’ve tried, but nothing seems to be working.

Sometimes it’s not a big problem even, but daily life. What do you do when you’re not feeling so connected to your Higher Power? When you’re feeling underwater with your daily responsibilities and you feel like your own Divine Spirit is just an idea, a hope you have, rather than a real, living energy that can help you and guide you?

Sometimes when I pray, it feels like I’m tossing a message in a bottle into a stream. At those times, I don’t feel super connected. Instead, I feel tired. That’s how disconnection from God shows up for me: I realize, Oh my God, I’m exhausted.

That’s when I use my God Box.

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Dropping the F-Bomb Before God

Cursing is not perfect. I get that. Sometimes I wish I didn’t curse. But retaining my right to curse has helped me build a strong relationship with God.

It’s easy to think that I’ve got to “clean it up” for God, that I’ve got to be the BEST POSSIBLE ME before I show up with God. This idea is based on a notion of God as a mean, distant grandparent – a grumpy old God who doesn’t like children and complains about my dirty jeans, my muddy sneakers, my messy hair. That’s not the God I need.

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What to Do When God Seems Absent

When I began trying to connect with God (to see what I mean by “God,” click here), we had a lot of hard feelings between us. I was angry. I spent hours and hours as a kid looking for another family for my brother and me, but help never arrived. (Did I ask anyone for help? No. But that’s another post.)

So I was mad at God. But what do we do when we’re mad at God? When we’ve got a God, but we think he might not be good?

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How I’m Going to Blow Your Mind: The Anti-Gratitude List

Ok. I know what you’re thinking: All right, all right – Gratitude, I get. But  –  what the fuck  –  anti-gratitude? Yes. Anti-gratitude.

I came across this idea sitting in a Borders (remember those?), having just moved to this super cute suburb of Chicago, not knowing many people yet. I grabbed some books and headed down to the children’s section with my son. While he played with their toys, I stumbled upon spiritual magic.

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5 Books and Podcasts to Help You Build Your Spiritual Connection

Whoa. I have had a hell of a week.

 My husband and I had one of those arguments where you are feel like you are underwater and then you hear yourself saying these terrible things like I AM DONE WITH YOU and I AM GIVING UP ON YOU and you feel like WAIT – WHAT AM I SAYING?

And then I hear him saying, “I just really needed to tell you that,” and I’m thinking WAIT? WHAT? I MISSED IT but I don’t want to say that because it seems like it will prove every bad thing he seems to be thinking about me.

That I am selfish, and I don’t listen. That I am a bad mother and a worse wife. I get it into my head that he thinks that if I just did whatever he wanted all the time, then we would be happy.

I know that’s not true. That’s not what he thinks. He has been the kindest person to me, the most reliable, the most supportive.

But I am cracking under the weight of this conflict.

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How to Connect with God in 3 Simple Steps

You may be struggling with the idea of God. Even if you BELIEVE in God, you may be wondering what the f*ck is wrong with God LOOK AT THE WORLD or wondering what use God is if he/she/it loves us but does not seem to help us.

I get it. I grew up in a tough environment and even though I “believed” in God, I thought that God cared about us in the same way I care about ants: I’m not going to burn them to death with a magnifying glass but I don’t go too far out of my way to avoid stepping on them.

Basically, I believed God “cared about us” (maybe, kinda) but that this care didn’t translate into any action whatsoever.


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How to Get to Hawaii from Hell

My husband and I are planning a trip to Hawaii. Just the two of us. We are celebrating our marriage surviving after nearly TANKING a few years ago.

Now, four years later, we are better than ever. There are no guarantees, but so far so good. We’re celebrating.

Basically, in my mind, I’m already swimming in a cove surrounded by sea turtles. Digging my toes into the sand on the beach outside of our hotel. Wearing a lei at a luau.

How the fuck did I get here? How did I get this amazing life?

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The Worst Play Date Ever, or: Showing the Scars

This weekend I made a critical error and ended up on a play date I didn’t want to be on. I’m sure this other mom has her good points, but I wasn’t in the mood to hang out with a stranger, and it wasn’t what I had in mind when I texted this kid’s dad to see if they wanted to go on a hike with me and my son. He said the kid was with his mom and he wanted to forward my invitation to her. I paused, unsure how to say NO, THANK YOU. So, I ignored that little voice inside and said, “Sure! Sounds great!”

My mistake.

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WTF, God? or: Finding God in the Wreck of Your Life

When I was four years old, I remember my dad looking up at me often from his black and purple bong, his cheeks puffed out, letting the smoke out slowly and saying, "What?" or "I don't do drugs." Shrugging.

This was the 1970s, people. Not 2017 in Portland, Oregon, where there are more weed dispensaries in business than Starbucks and McDonald's put together. No. This was central Illinois in the late 1970s and it was very clear to my 4 year old self that the shit going down in our house was SECRET and that, beyond that, it was ILLEGAL and that HE COULD GO TO JAIL. Do you hear me? My dad, MY FUCKING DAD, my beloved, Jovan-Musk-smelling dad, the one who told me ghost stories on long drives through the country, the one who took me for corndogs before going in to the night shift at the factory, this dad, THIS BELOVED DAD, could go to JAIL.

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