And That's Okay

  via the graphics fairy

My marriage isn't in tip-top shape. 


There are no love notes on the mirror, no voluntary foot rubs, no giggling or gushing.
There also isn't any hatred, contempt, or name calling.

Right now, our marriage just IS.

When our marriage plateaued like this in the past, I would go into all-out FIX mode.  I couldn't STAND for our marriage to not be functioning at it's all-time BEST. 
But I don't want to fix anything anymore because I CAN'T fix anything.  No matter how much I hug, or compliment, or curl my hair or cook or put on a happy face, I can't fix.

I can smother him in kisses and love notes and spread sunshine and gush all over the atmosphere of our home, but there would be an undercurrent of frustration.  Forced sunshine just isn't as pleasurable.  Just... don't tell that to Dr. Laura.  She makes her bank on the idea...

Neither one of us feels good, health-wise.
He's got bad, bad allergies, and I've got who KNOWS what going on (test results impending).  Suffice to say: I'm really tired.  I can normally function on 5 hours of sleep, and the night before last I got in bed at 9 pm (after falling asleep on the couch at 8:30 while trying to watch "Wreck it Ralph" with the kids) and woke up at 8 am.
That's not normal for me, even WITH a brand new baby.  And what did I want all day?  A nap.

My husband is reading a lot of recovery material these days, and I don't really know what's going on.
Sometimes he's so aware.  The other night, he forced me to sit down while he cooked dinner (grilled cheese tastes SO good when someone else makes it).  Sometimes he's so unaware.
It's a tricky place to be in when you see one man and another within hours of each other.  Which one do I trust?
Neither.
I'm learning how to appreciate one without planting my hope in him.
I'm learning how to see the other for what he is rather than identifying him AS my husband.

So basically: on top of being physically spent, I'm brain dead trying to analyze it all out.
And the ending result is a plateau.

I'm strangely okay with my marriage being a mess on a plateau.

It doesn't bother me.  There's still an undercurrent of frustration, but it's faint.  I don't give it reign to rule... I only give it reign to express itself in prayer and the occasional bout of tears in the bathtub.  I can't force it down.  If it's here, it's here.  And I need to let it out, and so I do. 

BUT I'm finding an undercurrent under the undercurrent.
It's hope... hope that's been planted in the Savior and his Atoning Sacrifice.
Gentle hope rather than frantic hope.
Peaceful hope rather than panicked hope.
Hope in myself.
Hope in a stable, taken-care-of future.
Solid, safe, springtime Hope.

How timely.

Tunnel Blast

 

via kk61.blogspot.com

Last night, I shared my inventories with my sponsor.  I had my inventory categorized under 7 neat little titles: 

Times I Felt God's Presence in My Life

Positive Traits

Times I Saw Myself as a Victim

Thought I Could Save Myself -Didn't Use My Savior

Times I Let Fear Debilitate Me

Times I Didn't Keep My Word

Times I Feared Others More Than God 

As I went through my list, I realized that a GREAT DEAL of my inventory -no matter what category it was found under -all seemed to navigate back to one thing: low self-worth.

I was fine identifying it.  I had low self-worth all growing up and that's why I tended to see myself as a victim, that's why I never took my hurts and pains to the Savior and tried to handle things myself...

But why?  Where the heck did the low self-worth come from?

My sponsor asked me one question that sent my mind spinning.  I went to bed with it on my mind, and when I woke up this morning, the question had found an answer.  And I cried for the little girl I used to be.

I see her as a person apart from myself: she's so beautiful and important and sweet and her heart is so good.

And it ISN'T HER FAULT her mother fell off of a horse and hit her head on a rock.

It ISN'T HER FAULT she was raised by a woman who had a damaged brain.  

It isn't her fault.  She isn't a bad girl.

But she doesn't know that.  And because she doesn't know that, she doesn't feel important.  She doesn't feel loved.  She doesn't understand that her mother isn't like other mothers.  

She remembers being hungry and asking for food, standing by the fridge asking, asking, asking... she remembers her mother slapping her across the face and sending her to her room.

BECAUSE she was A BAD GIRL.

The foundation for my low self-worth was laid when I was a toddler. 

I internalized and self-blamed/shamed myself my entire life.  

I feel like this realization is the final blast in the tunnel.  I'm starting to see light peaking through the other side. 

I'm coming to know myself.

I don't blame my parents.  I admire them for sticking it out, for trying, for working together as Mom's brain healed... and it did heal.  

In high school, my mother and I used to drive to my flute lessons in a nearby city every other week.  I treasured those lessons.  Although my mother was a stay-at-home mom, she was in many ways, absentee.  I clung to those trips like NO other.  They were my opportunity to HAVE a Mom.

During one trip she said, "If I could give my kids anything -anything at all -it would be confidence.  I would instill confidence in them."

I remember her saying that.  I know my mother would never intentionally rob me of my self-worth or do anything to cause or foster low self-worth.  

I'm no stranger -it turns out -to living with someone with a broken brain.

Emotions wash over me today as I can see a little kindergartener in my mind's eye... she's scared of offending, of others, of disapproval, of offending, of not being absolutely agreeable to everyone.

If they love her, she will believe she's loved.

And she doesn't know it, but she's about to spend a life time setting patterns along those lines.  Fear will dominate her life.

UNTIL.

March 27, 2013.

Because now she knows.  Now she realizes.  And now, she will never go back.  Now she can look at the 5 year old doing a puppy puzzle in the Kindergarten room and love her.  Oh, how she loves her.

Oh, how she wishes she could reach through time and stroke her hair and tell her how important she is.

How lucky -how divinely lucky she is to have a blonde-haired Kindergartener at her fingertips without any time travel... she has a daughter: an important, beautiful daughter with hazel eyes and her Daddy's nose, and she can squeeze her, and stroke her hair and tell her:

YOU ARE IMPORTANT.  YOU ARE WHY I'M HERE.  YOU ARE MINE AND I. LOVE. YOU.

More than you will ever know, daughter.

More than you will EVER know.

Until you have a daughter of your own.

The Atonement is real.  The Savior LIVES.  He is present, presently.

I'm so grateful for my husband's addiction.

 

 

 

 

 

Nightmares

A few nights ago, I rented "Rise of the Guardians" through our PS3.

  

via catholicbychoice.wordpress.com

My husband bought a big package of licorice, I popped some popcorn, and we all sat under big blankets and watched the movie.

The kids loved it.  Of course they did.  It's about Santa AND the Easter Bunny AND The Tooth Fairy.  I mean, could a movie be any better?  My husband loved it because certain parts made me laugh so hard I cried, and he loves it when that happens.  I loved it because it was all about fear -about conquering fear.

Please stay with me while I tell you about it.  It's going to sound crazy, but staaaay with me.

The Boogie Man is named Pitch Black.  He wants to attack children with fear.  He sends them nightmares and tries to take joy out of their lives.

There are certain Guardians that are called on by The Man in the Moon (staaaaay with me) to protect the children.  There are four Guardians: Santa (named North), the Easter Bunny, The Tooth Fairy, and the Sandman.  Because Pitch Black has grown so strong, the Man in the Moon calls a new Guardian to assist the original four: Jack Frost.

North: Who are you, Jack Frost? What is your center?
Jack Frost: My center?
North: If Man in Moon chose you to be a Guardian, you must have something very special inside.

At this point, North illustrates his point by giving Jack Frost a Matryoshka doll of himself.  Each consecutive shell illustrates North's different character traits: powerful, jolly, mysterious... until the center doll is revealed.  In North's center is a doll that illustrates his grand sense of wonder.

  

via idontlikeitpaintitred.tumblr.com

That was my favorite scene... probably because I just wrote my inventory and had my own Matryoshka Doll experience.  I discovered what was at my center, and I'm using it to fight my own demons.
In my case: mostly fear.

The past few nights, I've been having fear-related nightmares (as opposed to fun-related nightmares? come on, Alicia...) and I wake up with my heart thumping.
My husband cheated on me.
My husband mocked me when he saw me in pain.
My husband left me.
My husband hurt my children.

These are the fears I'm letting go of -these are the fears I thought I HAD let go of.  But here they are at night, hashing up feelings I've dealt with for years.
I've worked hard to heal, and I didn't ASK for these dreams.  I didn't bring them on myself.  They're just... here.
It's like my own personal Pitch Black, creeping up from under my bed to poison my dreams.

I need my own Guardian to conquer my fears. 

Are these MY version of user dreams?  I've been using fear for SO. LONG. that letting it go has proved something of a shock for my brain?  I don't know. I do not know.
All I know is I'm tired.  I don't want to go to sleep, but I want sleep more than, gosh, everything.  I have a three month old, for crying out loud.  The bags under my eyes were already approaching epic proportions.
I wake up every morning filled with emotions toward my unsuspecting husband who has NO IDEA he spent all night making my life hellish.
Poor kid.

Today I'll focus on my center.
Today I'll focus on my Guardian.
Today I won't give fear any credit.

What Might Have Been

  

via zazzle.com

How many times have I been triggered by "what might have been?"  Countless times.  How many times have a shed tears thinking about the marriage I thought we should have had... how many times?
I was triggered by this a few months ago and ended up in the Mother's Lounge with tears streaming down my face.
Triggers are so slealthy.  I wish I could plan my bad days so they wouldn't coincide with things like church and mascara.
I'm sure I'll still be triggered by it sometime in the future.
BUT.
The time that passes between each trigger is getting longer, and the lessons learned between each meltdown are getting more poignant, more sacred, more precious...

I appreciate all of you so much.  I wish we weren't separated by miles and anonymity.  And I even wish we could all meet up and just look into each other's eyes and feel the love and concern we all have for one another... I'm not talking just about the spouses of addicts -I'm talking about the addicts.  The addicts that blog have given me so much.  I've learned so much and felt so much.  Their honesty has made my heart swell with compassion.  Their anger has widened my sense of empathy.  I KNOW anger.  I appreciate honesty.
I feel like the ugly blue Avatar people, "I see you..."

In a recent post by someone battling addiction, he wondered if it were necessary for wives to go through this (being married to someone with a sexual addiction).  And I walked away from the computer wondering.  I can't tell you how much some of your posts make me THINK, people.  I start digging through my soul, picking at my brain, asking question after question after question and coming to all sorts of starting realizations.

Have I mentioned how badly I'd like to hug you all?
I would.

When I first hit my rock bottom, I felt prompted to talk to my oldest bother.  At this point, I hadn't told anyone in my family though I live within a few miles of a bunch of them (parents included).  The thought of opening up to someone seemed extremely daunting, but at the same time, it also felt extremely imperative.  Once my Father in Heaven whispered the name of my brother in my ear, I got out of that empty bathtub, wiped the tears off my eyes, and walked out the front door.
My husband stood behind me, hunched and scared.  "Are you coming back?" He asked, softly.
"I don't know," I answered.
My brother wasn't home, but it was Sunday afternoon so I knew where he was.
Grandma's house.  I pulled into her drive, walked in the house and prayed that the acting skills I'd honed in high school would kick into full gear.
"Hey, there's something going on with my car," I said to my brother, "Would you mind taking a look really quick?"
"Sure," he followed me outside -it wasn't an untoward request. He's a mechanic, just like Dad.
Once we stepped outside, my voice began to shake, "There's nothing wrong with the car, can we go somewhere and talk?"
I'd never talked to my brother like this before -ever.  I mean, I don't think we'd ever hugged or said, "I love you" more than MAYBE 5 times... it just isn't how our family functions.
We went to his empty house, and I melted down.  I told him everything.  I didn't ask my husband's permission to talk about it.  I just DID because I needed to.  After 6 years, I had to talk to someone for ME.

My brother is an amazing man.  Most men are amazing in their own way.
He testified to me about the Atonement, about the power of change, about the miracle of the Savior's sacrifice.
And he cried.  He broke down and cried.
My brother never cries.  The last time I saw him cry was the month after he lost his 9-month beautiful blue-eyed daughter (who looked SO much like him) to a heart condition.  Before that?  Well, he cried when he read Arizona law and found out it was illegal to own an armadillo in our state.  He was 12.
But that day, he was crying.  He wasn't crying about his sweet baby girl, but he was crying because he'd seen the power of real change -the power of change of heart -in a man he'd taught on his mission.  And then he said something I'll never, ever -in all my eternal life -forget.
The tears were gone from his eyes as he said, "I'm scared to think where my testimony would have been if I hadn't lost my daughter."
What?
That's exactly what I said, "What?"
"I thought was I doing good," he said, "We did scriptures every night, church every Sunday, Family Home Evening every week, I prayed, we prayed as a family, I served a mission... but I wasn't anywhere near where I needed to be spiritually.  I used to be afraid of death, of losing my wife of kids -but I'm not anymore.  It happened, and I'm fine.  It's given me more to live for.  If my wife dies, I'll be okay.  If another one of my kids dies, I'll be okay.  It won't be easy, but it will be okay.  I know that now.  I wish I could transfer what I know to people, but I can't.  They have to feel it for themselves to know it."
And then he gave me a blessing that carried me through the next few months of my life.
Obviously, I DID go back home...

And since reading Warrior's blog post, I've been wondering to myself, "WAS this necessary?  If so, why?"
My answer -I'm certain -is personal to me.  It's not a blanket answer that applies to everyone in this situation.
But my answer is -without a doubt -YES.

I could have gone through life without being married to an addict, but I would have never discovered the overpowering effect of fear in my life.
Do you know how disgusting it is to look back on 27 years of life and chalk SO much of my negative experiences off to FEAR?
Fear of others.
Fear of failure.
Fear.
Fear.
Fear.
It makes me want to tear my hair out!  But I'm AWARE now.  Fear will NOT rule the rest of my life.  It will not ROB me of living!
I would have never learned that without my husband's addiction.  I would have never learned myself, come to discover my core, my center, myself...

I would have lived a half-life, content to medicate with chick flicks and brownies.  I would have lived a Life of Coping.

I would have spent my days living as a victim -no matter the situation -because that's how I've always lived my life.

I would have spent my life unable to expand my ability to love: love myself, love others, love the Lord.  Mine would have been a life of sarcasm, criticisms, jealousy.

Could I have been brought to these realizations another way?  Sure, probably.  But I can't envision a trial so all-encompassing so as to bring each of these to my realization at once.  They would have come slowly, through several different trials, and thank GOODNESS they came right now.
I'm 27.  There's still time for me to have children without fear, to teach my children to live without fear... to show them how to experience life without shame, without victimization...

This is the trial I want.  This is the trial I am grateful for.

Because of this trial, I was able to take my lanky, white farm girl self to a zumbathon on Friday night and dance with about 40 other people and truly enjoy it.
I went in my track pants (which were covered in spots of flour from the sugar cookies the kids and I made).  No make-up.  My hair was thrown into the messiest mess of a pony tail... and I had a blast.
I took my kids with me -one bounced around will all the confidence in the world.  The other?  Looked up at me with his big, fearful eyes and said, "Mom, I just want to watch."
Oh, how it made my heart ache.  I KNOW that feeling.
And now I know that the only thing worse that putting yourself out there is the feeling of regret that comes when you sit on the sidelines.
"The rule is... you have to try," I said to him, "You always have to at least try."
Thirty minute later, he was down on the ground doing kick spins and making laps around the ladies trying to dance.
As we drove home he said, "Mom, I fink I have mad skills."

And I smiled.
I felt the exact same way... I had danced with almost no inhibitions, no thought of what others were thinking of me and old tennis shoes and stiff country limbs.  I'm usually plagued with overwhelming fear and worry and so I just... don't participate.  don't go.  don't LIVE.

Fear is losing power in my life.

My "What Might Have Been" Life is looking less like a glorified missed opportunity and much MORE like a bullet dodged.

Does it hurt?  suck?  make me cry?  Yes.
But I WANT it.
Maybe I'm a masochist at heart?  Maybe we all are to some extent... except we don't enjoy the pain.  We just enjoy the sweet, healing, miraculous powers of the Atonement.
It makes us want our trials.

It makes us scared to think where we might have been without them.

In the Middle

My grandma punches her bread dough.

Most women roll their bread dough out, neatly sealing the edges with water and gently placing the loaf in a prepared pan.  It's the best way to obtain the prettiest loaf.  It's meticulous.

And then?  There's grandma.
*wham! wham! wham!*

My grandmother is the most determined woman I know in real life.  Once she decides she's going to DO something, she does it.  Nothing stands in her way.  She's a never give up, never surrender kind of gal.

 Hers has been a life of projects.

And I think of Grandma every time I punch my bread dough (I use her recipe, of course because that's what you DO with homemade bread.  You make it like Grandma).  She simply places a dab of oil in her loaf pan, places her dough on top of it and *whams!* it.  alot.  repeatedly.
Then she flips the dough and repeats the process.
Then she flips it again and slightly tucks the edges under.  or not.   And just like that, she's done.

This is definitely the quicker way to do it, but it's a pain.  Rolling is a pain as well, just a slower version of it.  Bread making as a whole is kind of a pain in the buns (ha!) but Grandma shortens the pain.  with intensified vigor!  as is her way.

I feel that way about my recovery.  I'm emotionally exhausted.  I'm physically exhausted.  Is it possible to get spiritually exhausted?  I don't know.  But I want to POWER THROUGH Step 4 and 5.  I'm ready to be done with them for the present day (though I know it's impossible to ever just "check" Step 4 and 5 off.  or any step for that matter...) and I'm ready to take it.  I'm ready to look inside myself and rip open memories and past hurts and hurtings and offenses given and taken.
I'm ready to *wham!* my recovery.

And sometimes when I get in the middle of a project (of which I also have many) I start to wonder what I was thinking.  why?  why?  why? do I do this?  and as I wondered why I was putting myself through all of this emotional strain while trying to balance everything else, one of my favorite bands blasted through my Pandora Station.


I'm just in the middle of punching.

It's always like this in the middle. 

It's in the "getting worse before it gets better" stage, and I know -from repeated personal experience -that it always get better.
I would say I've got the loaves to prove it, but I don't.  They're gone.
Grandma's bread is THAT good.

The Windex Step

I stayed up late last night to work on recovery materials. 
I answered 12 hard questions... questions like "Do you feel like you are better than others?"

Instantly I was taken back to the day I was driving down Main Street and saw Skylar (we'll call him Skylar).  He's in his thirties and he still lives at home.  He has a disorder -one that shouldn't be too much of a stunting disorder unless you don't have the drive to fight harder, which he doesn't.  He's content to walk around town a lot.  And he isn't kind.  Or nice.  And he is harboring a list of people he'd like dead.  And whenever I am near him, my inner-creep-alarm goes off.  I never, ever ignore my inner-creep-alarm, especially when I have kids in tow.  And that day as I drove by, I was struck with a thought that has haunted me for over a year now.
"How can Heavenly Father love ME as much as he loves HIM?"
Even as the thought escaped my brain, I was horrified at myself. 
I've always tried to do what's right by following commandments (to the best of my ability) and going to church and on and on... but Heavenly Father's love is NOT earned.  It's freely and equally given.  I'm trying to understand it, trying to wrap my feeble, mortal brain around that concept... and I'm still learning and I still stumbling and so I wrote under that question:
Yes.

Pride?  Check.  Definitely have that...
I continued to answer questions like that, continued to dig up old wounds, past experiences and emotions.
It was draining. 
It was like wearing a bathing suit under florescent lighting in front of a full-length mirror.
Part of me wanted to smash the mirror.
Part of me wanted to smash myself.
But the biggest part of me wants to change...

Just before heading to bed, I jumped over to facebook and found someone had linked to an article written by a Bishop.  I clicked on it and read quickly through it... and then a few words jumped off the screen and seared themselves into the deepest cavity of my brain: the part I'd just overworked:

Mirrors are great motivators, if we've the courage to look them square.

And THAT is my motivation to keep going -keep working through Step 4, no matter how hard it is to see my less-than-desirable characteristics.

Step 4 is my Windex Step.

Here's the link I read in it's entirety.

Loved in Spite Of

After my mom's accident that damaged her brain to a nearly infantile state, she had a two albums she would listen to over and over (and over and over): 
The Man From Snowy River Soundtrack
The Oak Ridge Boy's Christmas Album

Mom has a way of really sticking with her favorite music.  Once she hears something she likes, she plays it over and over (and over and over).  Growing up, she played the Children's Choir singing all of the Primary Songs.
I hated it so much.
I sort of hated myself for hating it and swore that I'd spend the rests of my life being called as Primary Music Chorister as penance for my hatred.
That hasn't come to pass.  Yet, anyway.

The songs were constantly stuck in my head, and my brothers and I would grumble (murmur?) about it daily -but there was one I never minded hearing.

My Heavenly Father Loves Me

Even as I grew up and out of my home, every time I heard My Heavenly Father Loves Me, it would take me back home: back to my old Primary room filled with my old classmates.  I would feel young and warm and happy.

The past few days, I've messed up a lot.  I hesitate to say, "I've failed" because I don't feel like a failure...   Ordinarily, I would feel like a failure, and I would be devastated.  But as I'm working through my Step 4 inventories, I'm seeing ME and seeing that I'm not a failure.  I have certain character flaws, but my character flaws are not me.  I'm messing up a lot, but I'm not a mess up.  For example:

I burned the last batch of cookies.
I forgot to play tooth fairy.
I ate a huge bag of Cadburry mini-eggs (we're talking Sam's Club size here. Apparently when I nurse I have the ability to eat at Feed an Army capacity).
I backed into my own truck with my own jeep and busted lights out on both accounts (first accident in over 10 years).
I had to hire housekeeping help because I couldn't do it myself.
The list goes on (and on)...

And after getting up from the computer where I responded to an email from my mother who was apologizing because she felt, based on my actions toward her at dinner the night before, I had been hurt by her... I began to think of all of the little ways I'd messed up in the past few days.
I walked around the house doing little pick-ups, folding laundry, making cookies (determined NOT to burn the last batch this time), and I suddenly realized I was humming.

I had to stop myself and think about the song I was humming.

Am I the only one who does this?  I start humming a hymn without thinking about it, and once I realize I'm doing it I come to find the hymn I'm humming is an answer to prayers.

I caught myself softly singing, "He gave me my life, my mind, my heart... I thank Him reverently."
And it was like a soft message from my Father in Heaven.  I felt that old familiar HOME feeling again.
Yes, Alicia.  You've been a series of unfortunate events for the past two days.  But I love you.  I love every little clumsy, forgetful, thoughtless piece of you.

Me?
It sometimes blows me away -the power and magnitude of His redeeming love.  I mean.  It's just me.  I'm just that little ol' farmhousewife with her butcher apron on, burning cookies and forgetting birthdays.
Nevertheless...

And to drive His point home, a phone call was placed yesterday in just the way, at just the right time by just the right person to let me know:

Heavenly Father loves me.

This Weekend

 

via flickriver.com

*Friday night, I told him I feel like he's on emotional overload -exploding at every little spark. (he's recently started really getting really into recovery reading, and it's taking a huge toll on his emotions: trying to process everything, accept that he has to be okay with imperfection...)
*He agreed.
*I told him I've tried to detach and protect our little huddled mass, and prayed for guidance.  The guidance I got?  It's time to spend time apart.
*He disagreed.
*But agreed to take a mancation for a week.  It's camping weather anyway.
*He said, "I wish you would have talked to me before praying about it."
*We discussed -once again -my gut-feeling to turn Black Opps OFF while the kids are around.
*He told me I needed to loosen up.
*He got called into work to raid a house with SWAT (drugs and child porn case).
*He came home and stayed up until 2:45 am with me watching "Bomb Girls" -a TV drama about women in WWII who built bombs.
*We went to bed without VALIDATION sex because sex is off the table right now.  (Also: saying sex is off the table somehow turns me into a 15-year old boy who chuckles and says, "So when is sex going to be on the table?" Har, har.)  Validation sex is not healthy sex.
*Saturday morning, we had another heavy conversation before we even got out of bed.
*He told me there's such a thing as healthy lust.
*I told him I used to think so as well and then shut the heck up before I went into full-blown control/fix mode.
*He told me he was trying to decide if it was time to put sex back on the table (see?  it's kind of funny) and I suggested praying about it and then he said, "But I'm the type of person that has to think things out on my own before I pray about them."
*I took it personally. 
*I took it silently.
*I took a bath.
*I stewed. Literally and figuratively.
*I came out swinging.
*I never come out of anything swinging.
*A few days ago, my husband remarked, "You're so much like the woman I fell in love with eight years ago.  A little more ballsy, but it's all good..."
*I verbally attacked him about how I always pray first, how I'd NEVER go to him first because HE isn't my Savior, and how I WOULD NOT loosen up over the video game because it was my GUT telling me to keep the kids away from it (as opposed to my brain).
*He got defensive.
*An hour of heated discussion later, we came to:

1. He didn't mean anything by his comment of "thinking things out before praying about them" and he wasn't discounting MY experiences with prayer (which even if he was, I should have been fine with except I still want him to validate me.  And I shouldn't.  But I do.  And I'm working on it.  but anyway)
2.  He would stop playing the video game around the kids.

*He ended the conversation by saying, "Just FYI, if you come at me with the tone you did this morning, I will get very defensive."
*I told him that was okay.
*He said, "Yeah, but if you approach me with a nicer tone, I'll be more approachable."
*I told him sometimes I need an aggressive tone under my belt to help keep my courage up -otherwise, I'll cave to fear before voicing my honest feelings.  I felt it was okay, so long as I was respectful of him.  And hey look!  We still like each other.  We didn't YELL.  We didn't hate or name call (which we've never actually done anyway). 
*He was confused.
*We went on a double date (with the baby) and had a rollicking good time together.
*When we stopped at Sam's Club on the way home, the other couple took off toward the snack aisle, and my husband took me in his arms and laid one on me.
*I couldn't remember what was next on the list even though it was right in front of me.
*My husband is an amazing kisser.  He deserves a medal, or something.
*We came home, put the kids to bed, sat up and watched a romantic comedy together.
*We stayed up after the movie and talked.
*He told me he'd thought during the date about my comment after our *ahem* discussion that morning.  He told me he decided I was right.  He couldn't censure himself or his tone because we SHOULD be straight up with each other, "Like the stupid couple on the stupid Notebook."
*My husband makes me laugh when he says stuff like that.
*The baby put herself to sleep, and my husband fell asleep in MY arms which was kind of sweet and also kind of noisy because he has allergies.
*Sunday morning, we slept in and were late to church.
*I cried when my counselor taught the little Primary kids about the Atonement, even when my son loudly announced, "and DEN they whipped Him all over the back wiff a AX!"
*I cried when I came home and my husband told me his body has been begging for relief and was in quite a lot of pain but that he was taking deep breaths and telling his body no and he didn't want me feeling pressure to "help."  Which I did because that's what I'm programmed to do.  He told me he could sense that I was feeling pressure, and only brought up the issue in hopes that I would relax and quit stressing about it.
*I hugged him.  not too closely.
*I went to bed and dreamed my husband cheated on me.
*I woke up in the middle of the night with my heart pounding and fairly smothered him in validation snuggling (which is sometimes healthy).
*I just got a text telling me how much he enjoyed this weekend.
*I didn't realize my husband was a fan of rollercoasters.

Validation

 

via 

My dad has owned his own business for as long as I can remember.  Our family never really had much of anything in the ways of insurance, but it never really mattered too (too too) much.
Among other things, Dad was (is) a rancher.

Society highly underestimates The Rancher's medical knowledge.

So if Dad couldn't diagnose us, we were taken to Grandpa.  If Grandpa couldn't diagnose us, THEN we would go see a doctor.
When I was first married, I became sick.  I didn't get over it.  For months, I was in and out of doctor's offices.  It was hell.
I felt like my husband was acting out because I couldn't "be there" for him when he "needed" me, and I was determined to have my body fixed. 
Finally, a doctor prescribed me anti-depressants.
"I am depressed," I said to him, "I'm depressed because I'm sick."
I left his office in tears.  My husband gently suggested taking the pills.  I not-so-gently told him I would NOT.  They were not what I needed, and I knew it.  I could feel it in my gut.
Through my frustrated tears, I called my Dad.
I spouted off my symptoms to him and didn't bother censuring the descriptions in any sort of way.
"Female part this," I said, "And Female part THAT!"
When I finally stopped and took a breath, my Dad cleared his throat, "Um, you probably want to talk to your mother about this..."
"I DID, Dad!  I DID!  She doesn't know what's wrong... she's never been sick like this."
"Well, it sounds to me like you've got an infection that's trying to work it's way out of your system... at least, that's what happens to my cattle when they have an infection."

Bah!  Cattle.
But guess what?  Dad was right.

Dad's been frustrated lately.

He still owns his own business.  He's still dealing with the insurance end of things, but now Mom is sick.  No one can help Mom.  Grandpa (who is still alive and sharp as ever) can't help Mom.
They've tried pills and supplements and rub and even shots.  Nothing is helping Mom.

My mother gave birth to 4 of her 6 children at home.  Her first born was breech.  She birthed him at home, no pain meds.  When I bring it up, she always waves her hand and modestly says, "Well... I took an Advil."
*sigh* 
My mother is a rock of a woman.  She's pure grit inside and soft pillow outside.  She's determined and hilarious and introverted.  She endured an abusive father, a near-death experience, and stayed at home to raise 6 kids.  Every morning, she would walk about 2 miles and then come home to get breakfast on the table.  We always ate breakfast together.
Now she can't even walk down her own stairs.  To walk at all hurts her.
Dad's insurance finally came through... Mom went to the doctor.
They diagnosed her with extreme arthritis.  Mom is only 53.

A few nights ago, Mom told Grandma about her Dr. visit and her diagnosis.  We all sat around Grandma's table and ate beef tongue tacos (I wish I could say it weirded me out, but those tacos have nothing on Grandma's brains and eggs).
"The doctor looked at my x-rays and told me, 'You are in a lot of pain all of the time, aren't you?' and I was SO RELIEVED!  I thought for sure I was just being a baby... that it wasn't that bad.  That I just needed to get over it.  But hearing those words come out of his mouth made all the difference.  Even if the shots he gave me don't work, I feel better."

I nodded.
MOM UNDERSTANDS exactly how I feel.
Mom understands validation.

Sometimes I hear stories -he cheated, prostitutes, old girl friends, facebook chats, sexting -and I think, 'I'm just being a baby.  This isn't all that bad.  I just need to get over it.'

And just to hear someone say, "You're in a lot of pain all of the time, aren't you?" makes all the difference in the world. 
Even though people who validate me can't fix me, I feel better.

There's a reason I couldn't function for 6 months of my life.
There's a reason I gained ten stress pounds that I can't shake.
It's not because I'm bad or crazy or not enough of a human to deal properly with LIFE... it's just that I was hurting at the time.

I used to think validation was a negative thing, but now I see it for what it is: it gives me clarity.  It helps me to move on. 
In Rhyll's book, she says that women who are married to lust addicts need three things: connection, advocacy, and validation.

How true that is for me! 
How true.
Validation is a spring board for me.

Worry Dolls

 

via tc.umn.edu

When I was a very little girl, I was sure my house was going to burn down.  I was SURE of it.  I used to lie awake at night and think about it, run scenarios through my head -50% of which ended in the fatality of either me or one of my parents.  My mother did her best to calm my fears.  She taught a FHE about fire safety, she drew a fire-safety plan for our house.  It hung on the inside of the breakfast cereal cupboard for years, and I studied it -memorized it.

I can still picture it in my mind's eye.

I slept with my shoes beside my bed every night because the one thing that scared me almost as much as a fire tearing through my home and flesh?  getting stickers in my feet as I fled to safety outside.

"You worry too much," my mom said to me.  It's funny: she was always saying that.  She wasn't the only one.  My aunts would say it to me, my brothers, my Dad, my grandma... 

One Sunday evening, I was visiting my grandma.  My beautiful aunt lived with her, and I loved to spend time with her. She always looked so pretty and smelled so wonderful.  And she always had something for me -a piece of candy, a small toy, hand-me-down clothes...  

"They're worry dolls," she said, placing two inside my palm, "You whisper your worries to them before you go to sleep at night, then you place them under your pillow, when you wake up... your worries are gone."

I was fascinated.

She gave some to my siblings and cousins and well, and she joked with us that the dolls were so hideous that they probably just scared worries away.

The brothers laughed at that... but I didn't.  I took it as gospel.  I'd do ANYTHING to stop worrying.

So, every night -FAITHFULLY -I'd whisper my fears and worries to my hideous dolls and I'd place them under my pillow.

I began developing another fear: the fear of losing the dolls.  What would happen then?

Oh, the horror.

As I work on my Step 4 inventory, I see just how much fear has dominated my life -how debilitating it has been.

I think back to Step 2 -The Worry Doll Replacing Step.  I don't need a tiny, ugly doll to scare my worries away.  I only need my Savior to take them.

"I'm afraid if I tell my husband how I feel, he will react ________________."

"I'm afraid my first counselor thinks I'm inadequate in my calling."

"I'm afraid of rising food costs.  What if I can't feed my children properly?"

"I'm afraid my Mom will never be pain-free."

And as I turn my fears over to Him, I whisper "Even if this happens, I will be all right because the Lord will always stand by me and sustain me."

Then I listen for his affirming love -his tangible embrace.

Sometimes it comes.  Sometimes it doesn't need to.  Sometimes the baby cries and I don't have time to focus on fear before falling asleep.

I don't want fear to rule my life anymore.

I don't want to ignore my gut and act to appease others.

I don't want to miss out on opportunities because I'm afraid to fail.

What do I want to do?  Burn a few worry dolls.  

Now if I could only find them...

I'm My Own

  

via fanpop.com

Our Primary class used to meet in the church's kitchen.  There was a shortage of classrooms in the building.

I remember sitting in the cold, metal folding chair next to my best friend as the teacher poured salt into her cupped hand.
"Isn't it pretty?" She asked, her voice soft and sweet. We all nodded.  It was fast Sunday.  Any kind of food -even SALT -looked fabulous.
"Now look..." the tone of her voice took a turn from soft to foreboding.
She sprinkled pepper in the salt.
"It's dirty now," she said, "That's what happens when we sin."
She then went on to tell us how to keep ourselves unspotted.  Maybe the lesson was on the Atonement.  I don't know.  What I DO know is that the salt stuck with me.
Instead of seeing the pepper as an opportunity to draw closer to my Savior, I saw it as a huge no-no. 
I would SAVE MYSELF from it, and I knew I could because I went to church every Sunday and worked hard to do everything right.
Working hard is what I DID.  It's what my family did.  I was up to working my way into Heaven.
No pepper for me!  I'd make SURE of it.

I was never one to want to break rules.  I had a conscience so big it fairly stomped on me.  I never snuck out at night.  Never ditched.  Never talked-back.  Got good grades.  I was dead-set on working my way to Heaven. 
I knew how to do it, too.
*ahem*
Church history, magnify my calling, serve, pray, love, show charity, do my visiting teaching, write in my journal every day, don't fight, read my scriptures, attend the temple, keep my surroundings in order, cook, sew, crochet, work on food storage, get my 72-hour kit, get married in the temple, have babies, FHE, tithing, the word of wisdom, tell the truth, watch only the best media, dress modestly...

The list went on.  It weighed heavy on me at times.  Most of the time, I considered myself as failing.
So, like anyone who is in the business of saving themselves, I punished myself.
I cut myself.  My own sort of sharp lashings.
I knew the phrase "Saved after all I could do" meant that it was up to me to work out my own salvation... to be my own savior.
Saving myself meant judging myself.

Through it all, I did pray.  But my prayers were more of a report than heart-felt communication.  I spoke with only the utmost respect, using my very best Thee-Thous.

More than love, I sought gold-star stickers from the Lord.

The shame I felt as my own savior was immense.  When I stepped out of line -even SLIGHTLY -I was encompassed about with shame.  I took it out on myself because I knew... I KNEW it was my job to handle my own garbage.
I was responsible, and that's what responsible people do.
They don't bother others.  They most certainly don't bother the Lord, who -by the way- had more important issues on His hands than my garbage.  I knew it.
And so I would cut my shoulders which were always perfectly hid by all of my modest shirts, and I would feel immediate relief.  Justice had been served.


As I begin my Step 4 inventory for the second time, I have more clarity.
So I sit down with a blank page and a pen and I write at the top of the page.

"How I Became My Own Savior"

Does your inventory have a title?

If I Didn't Have You

  

via blogs.babble.com

Working the steps daily has been a game-changer for me.  I'm seeing more progress in the past few weeks than I have in a long time.

I've been dealing with a porn addiction in my marriage for 8 years now. 

It wasn't until 2 years ago that I realized I was co-dependent, and I thought I was co-dependent BECAUSE of my husband's addiction, and I resented him for it for a long time.

But as I reached my Step 4 and began writing an inventory, past experiences began to resurface at random times: just as I was getting into bed one night, I suddenly remembered something I hadn't thought about for YEARS.
When I was in grade school (second grade?  third grade?) I ate lunch with a girl named Amber.  One day we sat next to another girl, Mandy.  Mandy had a Little Debbie Fudge Round.  It looked so good -much better than whatever dessert my mom had packed for me. 
Mandy got up to go to the bathroom.
"Take it," Amber had said.
I didn't want to.  I mean, I wanted the dessert, but I knew it wasn't mine to eat.
"Take it, just take it," Amber said.
So I did.
We split it and ate it really fast before Mandy could get back... and it was the by far the WORST tasting dessert I've ever had.  I munched on a combination of guilt and chocolate.
Mandy asked us what had happened to her dessert, and we shrugged.
"I dunno..."

I never told her the truth.
I never stole anything after that.

The thing is: I care more about what other people think of me than I do what GOD thinks of me.  I FEAR others more.

I let go of my Step 4 inventory for a long time.  As I did, things would come to me every once in a while, and now that it's time for me to start Step 4 again, I feel a little more prepared.  I feel like I have more direction.

And I realize something monumental: I NEED RECOVERY from my co-dependency... not because my husband has a porn/sex/lust addiction but because I have issues -I've had them for most of my life!

In high school, I only dated guys that needed saving in some kind of way.  And you know what they say... you marry you who date.
I once dated a guy who needed a research paper written for him.  I was at the top of my English class and had turned in a 10-page research paper with a fat 100% at the top of the page.  He was a transfer student who turned in a 1-page research paper... a bullet-pointed list of facts and a fat F at the top of the page.
Our English teacher paired us together, and she asked me to please tutor him.  We spent hours together, hours in the library, hours at my house, a few hours at his... and I got to control the situation.  I was able to SAVE him from certain failure.
And you know what?  One afternoon when we were working together, he checked his email and his inbox was stock FULL of porn... not just the spam kind.  He tried to cover the screen.
We ended up dating for one week (Thursday to Thursday), and after I broke up with him he actually came into the mom and pop pizza shop I worked at and asking me to please date him again.
"You can help me," he said, "I need help and you can help me."
Something in my gut SCREAMED to get the heck away -jump ship!  and I listened.
"I need to help myself right now," I said.
He scoffed.  "With what?  You've got it all together."
"I'm applying to colleges.  I'm earning money to pay my own way through school.  I've got a million extra-curricular activities, and I need to focus on ME."
My boss asked him to leave.

Thank goodness I listened to my gut on that one.

I realize now -for the first time ever -that I was bound to marry someone who needed saving, even if I wasn't aware of it.
I have asked the Lord so many times, "Why did you LET me marry an addict?"
I see it now as a tender mercy.

Without my husband's addiction, I would have probably never realized the extent of my co-dependency -I would have never gotten any kind of recovery.
(or maybe I would have in a different way -a more painful way)
I would have spent my entire life fearing others more than God, trying to FIX everyone and everything, trying to CONTROL others and their situations in life.
I would have forever tried to be the wrong kind of perfect.

And I know now... I SEE now that if I would have divorced my husband two years ago when I was tempted to, I would have walked right into another "saving" relationship because I hadn't worked to find any kind of recovery for myself.
In the frame of mind I was in two years ago, my HUSBAND was the one with the problems and he was also THE problem... the problem that needed fixed, controlled, saved.

Now I've dropped the idea.  I've let go of him.  I've got bigger fish to fry.
I'm a friggin' mess.
And so I say to my husband as I did to Ryan in the pizza shop all those years ago, "I need to focus on ME right now."
That way if my husband decides against recovery or he dies (which cops sometimes do, but heaven forbid...) then I will be okay on my own. 

Thank goodness for my husband.  I shudder to think of the many relationships I could have ended up in that could have been far worse.

Thank goodness for addiction.
Thank goodness for recovery.

Thank goodness for the Atonement.
Thank goodness for love.

What Can I Do?

Less than a week ago, I got a book in the mail... a book about Pornography and Sexual Addiction.

****side note: thank goodness things aren't mailed in clear packages... our small town post master would know WAY too much about all of us.****

I couldn't tear into the book right away, but when I could, I TORE.  I dove.  I sat down with my baby and a thick blanket.  In one day, I'd read about half of the book.  The next day was cold and rainy.  My daughter went to school, I put my son in front of cartoon and my baby down for a nap, and I read in bed while the rain fell.
It was pure bliss -seriously.

****side note: it's amazing to me what qualifies as "pure bliss" now.  A few years ago, reading a book about sexual addiction wouldn't exactly put me over the moon.****

The book is titled, "What Can I Do About Him Me?" and the author, Rhyll Anne Croshaw, warns her readers in the beginning that the book could trigger feelings.  And she was right.  I had to close the book a few times because I was overwhelmed with feelings. 
I cried a few times.
I smiled a few times.
I sighed a lot.

I've only ever read one book about pornography/sex addiction before.  It was From Heartache to Healing by Colleen Harrison.  I have recommended that book time and time again.  It was my ladder out of rock bottom.

 

What I wouldn't have given to have this book as well.

It is clear, organized, concise -it gives rightly-placed hope... hope in YOU rather than hope in someone else.
For years, I invested my happiness in my husband's choices.  I hoped he would choose to read his scriptures when I wanted him to.  I hoped he would choose to pray every morning and night as I had felt he should.  I hoped he would quit looking at porn, connect with me emotionally, show empathy, love me the way I wanted to be loved, make me happy...

Rhyll gently, lovingly, honestly, and knowingly takes us by the hand and leads us away from this kind of thinking. 
She doesn't lecture.
She validates.
She doesn't cater to victim-thinking.
She understands.

It's a beautiful ride of a read.

It's the kind of book you buy 5 copies of and give them to the Bishop.  Why?
Because Rhyll has DONE it!  She has successfully breached the grounds of silence -she has broken the bonds of shame.  She has brought us into her kitchen with her and, through one-sided conversation, taught us how to take care of our neglected selves... without us actually having to SEE anyone or LEAVE the house or TALK to anyone.
The fear of talking about the pain going on in my home, life, and soul is just too shameful to admit to anyone... but reading a book sent to me in a covered package?  THAT I can do.

Realizing I couldn't control my husband's painful behavior made me feel powerless.
But reading Rhyll's words reminded me that although I can not control HIM, I can control myself and in so doing will find a different, greater kind of power... the power that comes from Diety.

One of the greatest tools I have taken from the book is a practice Rhyll and her husband took from Brene Brown: Vowel Check-in.
The Vowel Check-in uses all the vowels in a great easy-to-remember and well-covered check-in... I'm finding that it works great as a check-in with my Heavenly Father each night.

A) Was I abstinent today?  (For me, this means did I refrain from indulging in my addiction to try and control -not just my husband but others and situations as well?  Did I remain free from the fear that has controlled me in the past?)
E) Did I exercise today?
I) What did I do for myself today?
O) What did I do for others today?
U) Do I have any unexpressed emotions that need to come out?
Y) What was the "yay" for today?  What good things came my way?

A few nights ago, I found myself walking on eggshells with my husband.  I could tell he was cycling, and it helped me to detach.  We were planning on watching a movie together, and it felt really good to have the strength to say, "I don't want to watch a movie with you like this.  I know we've planned this night for a while, but I'd rather put it off than go through it like this.  You've been emotionally disconnected for a few days, and I was hoping tonight we could reconnect.  I've missed you.  I want to SEE you, but I can't.  You're not here.  Why don't you go do what you need to do to take care of whatever is going on with you right now?  We can watch the movie another time when we can enjoy each other."
He gave a few reasons as to why he was feeling so touchy -which were all true, I'm sure -but none were the ROOT of what he was feeling.
So I pulled the vowels out, and after about an hour and half, we had connected emotionally.  He admitted he'd been having a hard time fighting lust -though he hadn't acted out -and that he hated telling me about it because it made him feel like dirt.

But it's strange.  When he opens up and is honest with me about the details of his day, the little fights he had with lusts (even if he felt like it was a battle lost) are welcome sounds to my ears.  He tells me he noticed another woman, and he waits to see the hurt and pain in my eyes... but all I hear is HONESTY and it's so refreshing and wonderful and revealing that there's no room for hurt.  Not anymore.
I feel like each time he opens up to me, I peel off a piece of his hard covering and get a glimpse into the real, raw, vulnerable HIM and it's breathtaking.
He's an amazing man.

I haven't checked in with him using the vowels since then, but they were a great tool for that moment.  I don't want to force the check in on him every night.  If he'd like to check in, he can.  But I've found myself being more aware of ME as I go throughout my day, knowing that tonight I'll have my Father in Heaven to answer to.

Bottom line: if YOU are hurting, no matter the cause, no matter if you feel it is someone else's problem, no matter what: if YOU hare hurting, YOU need healing.
Rhyll shines a flashlight down the intimidating tunnel of recovery. 

A richer life is waiting...

****side note: I recommend this book to people currently in recovery from sexual addiction as well.  It will give you some great, real insights without shaming.****

Hit On and Run

  

via thomasmarzano.wordpress.com

I got hit on last night.

It was 11:30 pm.

My day had been emotionally taxing... a two-bath-er (if you know what I mean).  My husband is cycling, and I'm in the thick of working daily on the 12 steps which, in essence, means the Lord has a jackhammer on the thick candy coating I've been sporting for most of my life.  The REAL me is trying to get out.  It's hard.
Recovery is hard.

And at 11:30 pm after a long talk with my husband and a long day with myself, I just wanted a brownie.  Of course I was out of sugar.  So of course I had to put my tennis shoes on to go out and buy a brownie instead of make some.
But get out of my PJ's?  Take down my messy pony tail?  Put on make-up?
Psh.

So I trekked to the truck stop across town (which also happens to be the nearest gas station, but anyway) and I went inside and sort of panicked because they were out of Little Debbie brownies.

What's a girl to do?  I sighed... and picked up some Nutty Bars for my husband, a package of Swiss Rolls for me (an agreeable alternative) and then saw that the pork rinds were buy one get one and grabbed two of those.
My husband likes them.
I've eaten frog legs, rocky mountain oysters, and cow tongue, but you can't pay me to eat pork rinds.  *shudder*

And then I stood in the front of the candy bars, like any chocoholic would after an emotionally stressful two-bath-er day, and I stared blankly at them.
Someone approached me from the right, and asked, "Junk food run?" in such a familiar tone that I figured it was someone I knew (which is pretty much everyone in a small town).
I looked up and quickly realized: I had no idea who he was.
And I suddenly remembered: everyone I knew was in bed.  It was 11:30 for crying out loud... in a small, Mormon community.
I nodded like an idiot.  And that's when it happened... he walked behind me close enough to SMELL my frizzy hair (the humidity from the bath water never fails to frizz me), lowered his tone and said
"How you doin' tonight..."
And I ran.
Flight.
Flight.
FLIGHT!

It's significant to me.  It is.  For several reasons I'm going to share with you and no one else.
1) I have a lust addiction of my own -one which I haven't really come out with or dealt with because I didn't realize the extent of it until recently.
2) In the past when I've been hit on, it has consumed my thoughts.  I'd think about it for weeks afterward.  I liked it, but I hated that I liked it.
3) Yesterday, I hated it.  I was 100% freaked out by it.  I genuinely hated it.
4) I haven't thought much about it since it happened.
5) I see this as progress in my own lust addiction.
6) I underestimated the power of two bags of Pork Rinds.
7) My pajamas give off a prostitute vibe.  Stupid flannel.
8) When my gut tells me not to go to a truck stop alone at 11:30 at night, I will listen.  No matter how bad I want a brownie.
9) Restraining my husband's cycling anger when his wife has been mistook for unmarried and easy... isn't easy. 
10) Recovery is hard.  Did I say that already?

More If

  

via lipmag.com

I've been striving to work on the Steps daily.  It's been a challenge -a Good For Me Challenge.  Because I have a loves-to-be-held baby, setting aside time for myself isn't something I would do very much of.  But I have a sponsor to be daily accountable to, and it MAKES me put the baby down, put the kids to bed, and spend some time reading and journaling...
Sometimes it's 45 minutes.  Sometimes it's 15.
And I've been amazed -really amazed -to find the Spirit speaking clearly to me.  It's almost as if the Spirit realizes that I only have so long... so impressions and inspirations come quickly, distinctly -almost (ALMOST) loudly.

A few posts ago, I wrote some thoughts I'd been having on Manliness... the poem "If" by Rudyard Kipling has been bouncing around in my head for weeks and weeks.  Since writing that post and working on Step 3, I felt prompted to really have AT that poem.
I've felt I should memorize it (thanks, MM, for that).
I felt I should pull it apart and reference scripture on it -and THAT has been truly enriching.
And last night, I felt prompted to revise the poem to read exactly as I interpret it.

My Revisions are marked {so}

If {WoPAfied}

If you can keep your head when {your husband}
{Is} losing {his} and blaming it on you;
If you can trust yourself when {he} doubts you,
But make allowance for {his} doubting too: {sick brain}
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or, being lied about, don't deal in lies,
Or being hated don't give way to hating,
And yet don't look too good, nor {try to} talk {him into recovery};

If you can dream---and not make dreams your master;
If you can think---and not make thoughts your aim,
If you can meet with Triumph{s} and Disaster{s}
And treat those two impostors just the same {and keep sane}:
If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken
Twisted by {your husband} to make a trap for {you},
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build'em up with {God and} worn-out tools;

If you can make one heap of all your {progress}
And risk it on {a marriage full} of pitch-and-toss,
And {watch him} lose, and start again,
And never breath a word about {his} loss {except to the Lord

And your support system, knowing you’ll suffer if you don’t share}
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will {, your gut, and the thought of The Kids} which says to them: "Hold on!"

If you can talk with crowds and keep your {specifics to yourself},
Or walk with Kids---{and make sure the addiction leaves them –as much as possible –un} touch{ed},
If neither foes nor {nor husband} can hurt you,
If all men count with you, but none too much:
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds' worth of {prayers to Above},
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,
And---which is more---you'll be recovered, my love!

Rudyard Kipling{ish}

Self Soothing

  

via jojoretroandvintage.blogspot.com

I'm in bed.


I'm wearing track pants and a maternity shirt.  Next to me is a book, a ball of yarn, a plate... there's chocolate crumbs and half-eaten drumstick.
(what.  like you've never eaten cold leftovers and cake for breakfast...)

And it occurred to me in the middle of my boil-a-lobster bath this morning: I'm self-soothing.  I'm in self-soothing mode.  I'm surviving to sooth.
Why?
Because stress, that's why.

Last week, I had pretty much the same amount of stress on me and I was doing much better... although I will admit that when my husband disclosed the equivalent of a dump-truck load of confessions on me, I listened and then went straightway to the kitchen.
"I don't know what I'm feeling," my brain said, "But I'm pretty sure it's negative and now I need chocolate."

But last week I cleaned my house on Monday.  I scrubbed it and aired it and played beautiful music through it.  Monday night I bathed myself and my children.  I styled my hair so that when I woke up on Tuesday morning all I would have to do is remove a headband and curls would appear! 

Tuesday morning, I woke up to a clean house.  I rolled out of bed and ten minutes later was completely dressed and ready for the day.  I ate better, was more available, accomplished more...
the rest of the week followed suit.

This week?  I woke up in the wake of a busy feelings-family-friends-food-filled weekend, and as much fun as it was, it's left me feeling drained and stressed.
My house isn't airy or clean or playing beautiful music.
And I'm in full-blown sooth mode which, as I know but never seem to truly LEARN, compounds the stress.

I forgot about Silly Sock Day at school and my sweet poor Kindergartner came home and responded to my apologies with, "It's okay.  Invisible socks can be silly too..."
I didn't even HAVE socks for her to wear.

I forgot to email my missionary sister about her own nieces blessing.
I forgot a play date.  I relied on Netflix.  I left food out all night -expensive food out -and it spoiled.
I had to spend $30 (one student's payment for a month of piano lessons) on dinner for the next night because I had invited friends over and couldn't feed them spoiled food.

And I've been near-tears all week wondering, "What in the h-e-eck-eck is my beef? Why was I awesome last week and a fat failure this week?"
Hormones are partly at fault, I will admit.  And I DID have one big "ah-haaaaaaaa" moment Monday night when I realized the reason for my weekend jelly bean and chocolate chip cookie binge was NOT so much because I was a lard-driven animal and MORE because I was a natural, cycling woman.
Luckily for me, I have a few natural supplements I can take to ward of hormone-induced depression.

Self-soothing has a place in my life.  A passing, fleeting place.
I stay in it as long as it takes for me to realize I'm in it, and then I get out.
Prayer, scripture study, good music, a round of yoga, a mopped floor, a salad, a conversation about Power Rangers with my son, a few minutes of solitude with my peaceful baby... THESE are my self-care.

I could make an educational t-chart listing my self-cares and my self-soothes... but I think I've made a pretty good illustration.
And you know what?  Self-care is hard.
Self-soothing is easy.

But, as I remarked in an embarrassingly tear-filled testimony from the stand on Sunday, hard work brings miracles.


And you MUST permit me to insert a little Manliness whenever possible:

 

via artofmanliness.com

Self-soothing? You've officially been checked.

It's time to move on to self-care... it's not going to be easy.

But (say it with me):

It's going to be worth it.