Vulnerable Boundaries

(one of Dr. Skinner's slides at The Togetherness Conference)

Random Sample of what's going on in my house right now:

Him: Come here I want to show you something.
Me: I can't.
Him: Yes, you can.
Me: Don't tell me what to do.
Him: Quit being mean.

Doors slam.  Bottom lips come out to play.
But seriously... that actually happened, and both of us were a little disturbed by it.  I mean, we're ADULTS, but we were sounding exactly like our small children.

My therapist applauded me for holding my ground.  I felt my choice was being taken away and I stood boldly and said, "Don't tell me what to do."  I spoke and held a boundary.
I wasn't yelling or defiant.  In fact, I was scared.

"What you can do instead," said my therapist, "is be honest about where you are.  Be vulnerable when you hold your boundaries."

I have been in such a confused and lonely place.  I have a MARRIAGE but I don't.  I have a relationship but it's dysfunctional.  I can't change it or fix it.  I can only detach and feel lonely and wait and watch.
But what if I can't ever re-attach?  Am I destined to stay in this cold, dank corner forever?  never to trust or depend on any man EVER AGAIN?

My ability to connect with people -and eventually this will *hopefully* include my husband -is to foster my ability to be vulnerable.
It's raising my hand in a Relief Society lesson on choosing spiritual needs over physical wants and saying, "I know this concept is important, but I struggle with it.  I need to remember to have compassion for myself because it's only natural to want to give into physical desires.  We have them for a reason."
It's reading poetry I've written in front of a crowd.
It's saying, "I'm sorry, I can't help with that.  I really wish I could."
It's apologizing to my kids and being honest about my mistakes with them.
It's saying prayers with them and letting them hear me talk to God about my failings.
And while I can't be safely vulnerable with my husband all of the time right now, I can be vulnerable in my boundaries.

Instead of saying, "Don't tell me what to do" which shows no insight into what's really going on with me, I can be honest and say, "Whoa, you just set off some old emotions.  I'm feeling controlled (or I'm feeling like you're taking my choice) so I need some space."

I don't foresee that going over well a'tall. 
BUT.

It's time for me to be fully honest, even if it's uncomfortable.
It's time for me to tell my husband how I truly feel instead of change the subject when he comes onto me and I feel triggered.
I owe myself integrity.

I'm always telling my kids, "When you do something that scares you, it makes you stronger."

It's time for me to live that truth, to face situations and let go of the outcomes. 

The bottom line is that I'm not willing to sacrifice the art of being vulnerable.  Right now, I'm very much in a place where it would be easy to wall myself off, but I will fight to maintain my self-honesty and ability to be vulnerable with myself and others.

The fact is: I'm not going to stay in this cold and lonely place.  I will connect again.  Whether it's to my husband or not, I will connect again.
When that time comes, I want to be able to be fully honest and vulnerable with myself and others.\

Other Men

I miscarried our first pregnancy. 

It was awful... it was seriously awful.  When I was curled up in the chapel area in the hospital, trying to find some peaceful sleep, I blocked out porn.  A person shouldn't have to think about her husband looking at porn while she's coming to grips with shattered dreams and loss.  I put a pin in it, so to speak.

Once home, I didn't get out of bed for a solid week.  Once I faced the world again, I decided to get a job.  I applied to be a manager at a local movie theater.  I landed the job, and although I had no experience actually WORKING in a theater, the staff was really sweet and helped me out. 
One guy in particular was really sweet.
Like, really.

He was also charming and attentive.  He knew I was married.  And I knew I was married.
So why didn't I keep my distance?  I didn't kiss him or flirt with him, but I crossed a mental line. 
Why?
Because you can't put a pin in porn addiction... at the time I didn't SEE it as porn addiction.  All I knew was that my husband couldn't stop looking at other women, and that there was something tangible missing in our marriage that I tried to fill so many different ways: more sex, thoughtful gifts...
What was missing?  A connection -a real connection.

I didn't discourage Sam at the theater.  I liked that he liked me.  I knew he was trouble -even the owners had warned me.  Their exact words were, "Beware of Sam.  You're married, but you're pretty.  All he cares about is the pretty."

After I'd worked there for a month, I found out I was pregnant.  Sam overheard me tell the owners that I was suffering from morning sickness (I still hate popcorn because the smell of it nauseates me now).  And that was that.  Suddenly reality hit Sam.
"Wait," he said, "You're PREGNANT?"
"Yeah," I nodded.
"Ohhh," he said.  But it sounded more like, "ewwww."

A few weeks later, my husband and I moved.  We packed up our studio apartment... well, HE packed up with his Mom's help while I helplessly sat on the floor and tried not puking.  We moved four hours away, bringing the addiction with us wherever we went.
We brought a little one into our life and moved again.
The addiction was there.  The connection I so craved was sparse.
After I had our second, I found myself drawn to someone in our ward.  I didn't flirt with him, I didn't kiss him or even touch him.
But the draw was there.  He would never know anything about it, but I was very aware of the inner fight going on inside of myself.

And just like in the case of Theater Sam, I told no one.  Nothing had happened, so why say anything?

Right now, my husband and I are distant.  We are far apart, and more than EVER, I crave connection.
Guys, I am LONELY.

I find myself enjoying the old cowboys who come into work and call me by the names they call their horses: Darlin', Sweets...
My counselor is a healthy man who SEES me.  I'm drawn to that.

It isn't just ONE man... it's ANY man I perceive as safe!  The Connection Craving is strong right now.

BUT.
THIS.
TIME.

I know what to do.  I know who to tell.  And I DO tell.  I talk to my husband about it.  I even told my counselor about it.
"How does your husband feel about it?" he asked.
"He likes you too," I said.  And then I laughed really hard at the whole situation.  I demystified it.

I call my sponsor. 
I pray.
I write it out -I physically put the words on paper -and I surrender the feelings.  Not once, not twice, but AS MANY TIMES AS IT TAKES.

My longing for connection is healthy, and it will be filled.  I'm not destined to live a lonely life.  I will keep my desire through surrender.  I won't squelch it or shame myself.
But how do I keep it without acting on it?  Because if I were to act on it right now, it would be bad...

I surrender.

And I listen to the voice of my counselor say, "Talk about it.  Don't hide this craving.  If you do, you will be caught off guard in a bad situation."

I am susceptible.
And unhealthy men have a sort of radar for lonely, vulnerable women.

Lonely.
Vulnerable.
It's like looking in a mirror...

Getting Real

I have a new sponsor, and her name is Rhyll (sounds like "real").

As a word person, I'm getting carried away with the whole thing.
"Sorry I missed your call, I was on the phone with my sponsor," I text my husband.
"How was it?" he'll text back.
"Rhylly good."

And then I giggle out loud for no one but myself to hear.

Two weeks ago, I attended a group meeting online.  Rhyll was in attendance and she said something I wanted to share with you (with her permission).

"As children we are taught not to be mad, and we are taught that it is our job to fix others."

As she spoke, I had a  (get ready for this because I haven't even typed it and I'm already giggling) Rhyllization.

Yes!  Yes, that IS exactly what I was taught.  And the dysfunctional flip-side of that is simply that I shove my anger down and then expect OTHERS to fix me.  At least, I used to.  How many emails did I send, venting blaming anger?  How many phone calls did I make?
My friends would help fix me.  They would give advice, offer suggestions, validate my emotions.

The things I was upset about weren't always huge, but when you're dealing with trying to cope with a sexual addiction in the home and have no resources or help and then someone does something untoward like PUKE or ring the doorbell, it's a small travesty.

You know what I mean...

And in those moments, I'd call my friends and unload -not about the addiction, never about the addiction!  It was the Voldemort of Mormon Mommyhood!  Instead I would vent about the stain on the carpet and the small drama of this or that.  It always seemed so much bigger than it really was, and I knew why.  I knew it was because of the addiction, but denial was the ruler of those days.  So I'd whine into my keyboard or cell phone and my friends on the other line would validate me.

Never turning to my Savior.
Never landing on my knees.
Never surrendering.

In turn, I saved my friends in their hours of need.  I was always available to fix their issues and problems.  I had answers!  I had advice!  I knew what they needed! 

Today I lie in a mist I like to call "My Socrates Phase."
I don't know what anyone really needs.  I have no answers.  I know I know nothing. 

I'm working on surrendering my control issues.
I'm working on surrendering my loneliness and subsequent temptations to attach to old men (don't ask... or do, since talking about it helps).
I'm working on surrendering my fear of man.
I'm trying to surrender my tendencies to self-medicate with food and escape.

How do I surrender?  On my knees, on the phone, in the box!
I'm finding my small child-self coming back out as I discover my true identity as a Child of God, and as this transformation takes place, I see a prime opportunity to RETEACH myself something:

It's okay to be angry, and I am not the Savior.

Here's to putting down the magnifying glass and picking up my mirror!
Here's to putting down the Oreos and picking up the carrots!
Here's to surrender box shopping!
Here's to more Rhyllizations!

Arise

**The winner of the necklace is anna belle!  Email me your contact info and I'll get it shipped out post haste.  I'll even use an English accent when I ask the post mastah for a stahmp**

I've always dreamed of attending the Salt Lake Temple. 

Thursday night, I was able to finally fulfill that dream.  With a belly full of Cafe Rio, my best friend on my right and my sister on my left, I went through a live session.  Oh, it was beautiful.  I saw so many things I'd never seen before.  I heard so many things I'd never truly heard.  And to be there with JUST women -my two favorite women -was priceless.  It meant so much to me.  I attended the Temple with the two people I feel safest with in the entire world.

At one point in the session, I was unexpectedly moved to tears as I was brought to a realization of how the Lord would have his sons accept his daughters.  The realization penetrated me to my very center.
My value as a daughter -the reverence in which my Father holds me -it settled into my heart deeper than it ever had before.

I can't put it into words -the Spirit doesn't speak like that.  I can only communicate to you that it DID happen and that I felt and heard it with my heart.

Saturday morning, I sat in a class at The Togetherness Conference and the same feeling overtook me... the degree in which I felt it was lesser, but it was unmistakable.  The Lord was telling me something.  It was a direct message from Him.  I mean, it was Maurice Harker speaking, but it was the Lord communicating.
"The men will rise up," Maurice said.

It isn't that women are better.  It isn't that men are better.  It is simply that the sons of God must and will rise up to meet and care for the daughters of God.

The Lord wants his daughters to be SAFE.

Last night, I realized that despite my husband's recovery efforts I still don't feel safe. 
My husband has risen up more lately than he ever has, but all I can do is watch.  I can't invest.  I can't shove down my trauma and exchange it for gratitude. 

I can wait for consistency in his rising up.  I can sit and watch him rise again and again and again.
Heavenly Father has helped me find a place of safety... a place where I can rest and watch.  It's calm and there's no crazy train.  There is only serenity in my safe place.
My husband has not offered me such a place.
When and if he does, My Father in Heaven will speak to my heart -just as the Spirit did Thursday night -and I WILL KNOW.  I will know. 
And when that happens, I will make a merge between my celestial safe place and my earthly safe place.

In that moment, I will witness first hand a son of God rising.
At least... that is what I dare to hope.  If that hope is not realized, I can find serenity, safety, and solace in my celestial surrender.

Such News!

An hour ago, I got a special delivery. 

There's a woman down the way who designs and makes her own jewelry.  It just happens to be the only jewelry I'm fond of wearing regularly.  And the woman just happens to be my aunt.  And I just happened to commission a few pieces.

One is for me.  It's blingy!!!

Here's my necklace's close-up... her very own 15 seconds of fame!

See the CROWN on the tile pendant?  It's glittery.  I'm not really a glitter kind of girl unless we're talking about crowns. See the HATCHET?!  Am I the only one who thinks this necklace is GENIUS?!!
Turn the tile pendant around and what do you get?  Porn kills love, steam punky style.  with glitter!

Guys, I'm wearing this to bed.  It will get tangled in my hair and I'll be the girl at the conference with the hacked off hair and necklace full of straggly knots.  And that's how you'll know me. 

Because I just happen to personally know the woman who makes my favorite jewelry (and I swear I'm not just saying that out of family obligation or some weird fascination with nepotism...) I commissioned a mini-me.

  I ordered this piece a month ago, and it's HERE!  HERE!

When you wear it, the "porn kills love" is not visible... just wanted to make that clear.  But the hatchet is.  And you might have some 'ssplainin' to do when people say, "what's the deal with the hatchet and glittery crown?"
Possible answers may include *ahem* (I've been rehearsing these):

I've always loved the story of Henry the VIII.

What hatchet? (and then change the subject)

I plan taking the defunct government by storm with my hatchet... then I'll be queen.

I also highly suggest just wearing the necklace so the "porn kills love" is proudly displayed.  One of two things will happen.
1) People will awkwardly pretend they didn't see the words on your necklace.
2) You'll get the opportunity to say something like, "I hate porn.  I want to chop it."

I know I just gave away a hatchet charm... this I KNOW.  I was getting antsy. 
And on that note, please just leave a comment if you want it.  You'll get TWO ENTRIES if you type your comment in CAPS because it will PROVE TO ME that you're AS EXCITED as I AM over THE AWESOMENESS of the NECKLACES!

If you're uncomfy leaving a comment, just shoot me an email.  in caps.

brabadges@hotmail.com

I'll draw a winner Sunday night when I get home from the Conference!

I hope you win!  Then you can smile so big your eyes disappear and the lines around your eyes come out to play (is it crazy that I love my lines?)

 

**disclaimer: I don't actually hold the idea of porn KILLING love since porn is hardly the actual problem.  The actual problem is lust.  But "porn kills love" feels more empowering to me than "lust kills love" and I'm the jewelry commissioner, so...**

Backspace Buttons

(via retronaut.com)

A few months ago, my husband prayed to know how to best see me.  The answer he received to read what I'd written.

So he started reading my blog.  At first, I didn't want him to.  It was my space, my safe place.  I began censoring myself, afraid of upsetting him or saying something he didn't approve of.
"I've been reading your blog," he said to me one day.
"Yeah," I nodded.
"You're censoring yourself," he said. 
I'd been caught.
"Can I just say something?" he reached gently up and tucked a stray hair behind my ear, "It's bull yish."

Only he didn't say "yish..."

And he was right.  I knew he was right.  He told me not be afraid, to just let it out... But something always held me back: fear, guilt, shame.

But something sort of clicked for me recently.  I can't say what it was EXACTLY, but I'm venturing a pretty solid guess on it being my understanding more than I ever have who I truly am: A Child of God.
I don't censor myself anymore, and I find myself feeling joy knowing my husband is reading what I'm writing.  I don't write certain things so he will read them, I don't NOT write certain things because I know he'll be reading... I just write.

Last week, I brought up a blog post I'd written.  My husband said, "Oh, I haven't read your blog in a while."

And I was surprised to find my feelings unduly hurt.  I didn't react or say anything about it -I wanted to figure out WHY I was feeling that way.
What in the world would bring something like that on?  It seemed so petty!

I found the answer in my own words as we drove home from our big bi-weekly grocery shopping trip.
"I'm more me when I write than at any other time."

In some odd way, I felt like my husband hadn't been visiting the true me.  That he'd just sort of forgotten about her -or WORSE -that she wasn't worth a howdy?

It sounds crazy, I know.
Right now, my husband is away at K9 training.  He's gone all week and home on weekends.  He'll be gone for 9 weeks.  I work every every morning (during the week) from nine until at least noon.  He starts training at noon and works until ten.
I go to bed at ten.
So we text and we call whenever we can slide in a few minutes conversation.

The training is 5 1/5 hours away, and my husband -instead of leaving Sunday night -left very early Monday morning so he would be able to have a few more precious hours with his family.

Our weekend together was good -it was GOOD.  I was surprised.  I'd had no expectations for it, but it turned out to be solid, grounded and good.  There was no bad media.  Dad helped with chores.  Mom made popcorn balls from popcorn Dad popped.  The kids played with cow skulls...
(living by a ranch is serious business)

And as the weekend came to a close, my head was resting on my husband's chest... his long arms were gently draped across my thick pajamas.
I listened quietly to his heart beat, his breathing... It occurred to me how fragile he was compared to mountains, oceans... how precious every tiny function of his body was.
If his heart were to simply stop beating?
If his nose were to simply stop breathing?
How devastating it would be -how much he mattered -how much more did one small man matter (small in the scheme of things, I mean) than all the mountains, all of the oceans, every canyon?

Every faculty of my husband's is a miracle from my creator.

I wanted my husband to know that at 9 pm last night, but he was still in training and I would be going to bed soon.  So I WROTE it to him.  I wrote a beautifully composed email full of realizations, real life, and a few big words.
And then as I crawled into bed later that night, my phone rang.  It was my husband.  We actually had a few minutes to talk!  Want to know what I said?
"Uh huh.  Hmm.  Oh.  Cool.  Nice..."

I'm classy, what can I say?

But that's the WHOLE of it.  I'm more ME when I write than when I talk.  He hung up the phone with me and read an entire email full of what I actually, REALLY wanted to say but couldn't form into audible sentences!
I've always been like this, since I was a kid.

And THIS is exactly why I'm nervous to meet everyone at The Togetherness Conference... because what if all I can say is, "Uh huh.  Hmm.  Oh.  Cool.  Nice." ?

There are no backspace buttons in real life, and that scares the yish out of me.

But the only thing worse than facing a group of women who know my darkest secrets but not my last name... is not facing them.  Because this is SO right.
See you soon.  I'll be on a flight out of Phoenix on Thursday morning.
Pray for my anxiety and my husband who will be dealing with my anxiety over my kids -more particularly my Baby who loves her mother more than any other earthly thing (and it's mutual).

It's only a few days away!

Guilt

A couple of months ago, I got mad at my husband.  I didn't hold back.

My pattern has always BEEN told hold back.  If I really, truly told him how I felt, it would hurt him.  I didn't want to hurt him.  When he was hurt, he acted out.  He mismanaged that hurt.  I couldn't handle the GUILT that came with hurting him.  So I would walk away, shove my emotions deep down and then come back.

In short: I was too scared, too full of fear to be fully honest with my husband.
I thought I was being Christ-like and sort of applauded myself for being so skilled at managing my temper.

I scratch my head at that logic now...

My husband did something addiction-related that was not okay with me.  And when he told me about it, I didn't shove anything down.  I wasn't scared.  I told him EXACTLY how I felt.
I was so mad there wasn't any room for guilt.
In fact, the guilt never came!  It didn't come afterward when he yelled at me.  It didn't come after THAT, when I felt like a third person observer and realized just how messed up our dynamic was.  And it didn't even come after that... when I excused myself from our current marriage and took a figurative taxi cab to a safe room with only my name attached to the address.

It still hasn't come, and I'm amazed.  As concerns my decision to be done with our marriage, I don't feel guilt.

But yesterday, I guilt about something else, something addiction related.

A few days ago, before my husband left for training, he told me that lately I've been mean.  It isn't like me, and he misses me.
I've mulled that over since he said it.
No one has ever called me mean.  At least, not since I was living at home with 5 siblings and MIGHT have taken Easter Candy from the smaller ones who couldn't hurt me.

I phoned a friend who has walked this path before to work through some of my emotions, the greatest of which is anger.  I told her I was mad.
She said (I'm quoting her directly), "Good!"

Good.
Good?

Isn't anger bad?  Isn't not Christ-like?
Enter: Guilt.

I made dinner and read scriptures with the kids.  I did dishes (PS: this isn't very normal for me to do ALL of this in one night, so I have to put it in the story somehow so you'll all be amazed that I made dinner, bathed the children, read scriptures, said prayers, AND did dishes!  all in one night!) and the thought came to me as clear as day.

Why haven't I been mean before?  Before recently?

Why NOW?  The sealing covenant I made has been shattered repeatedly, stomped on!  I have been pushed aside time after time after time for other women in the name of fantasy.  And THROUGH IT ALL, I worked harder to be seen!  And I was not seen.
I birthed children through all of this.  I invested and invested and invested.  At times, I was confessed to daily.  And did I cry?  No.  Did I get angry?  No.  Did I tell him how I really felt?  Only after I hit a breaking point after a few YEARS.  And even then, I wasn't mad.  I was just sad.

Isn't that ODD?
There is something WRONG WITH THAT.

There is something wrong with the fact that I was never mean.  The natural woman would be! The natural woman would be angry and probably mean about it all.  Does that mean it's okay?  I don't know.  Probably not.  But natural?  Oh heck yes!
And it SHOULD be that way.  Women SHOULD be upset when they're pushed aside for something else, something superficial and insatiable.  Women should FEEL their true worth and value in the mess!  They should not only know they are enough but feel it as well.

It wasn't until I felt it -TWO short months ago (nine years into the messity-mess) -that I got mad.

This anger is new to me.  It's coursing though me and confusing me.
My friend who rejoiced in my finally feeling it, encouraged me to write a letter to my husband -an angry letter.
What a good idea!  I went through my day yesterday and tried to compose one in my head, but something stopped me.

It was GUILT.

I can't feel angry.  I can't say *this* or *that*.  It isn't Christ-like.

Today, I will work to surrender my guilt.  Today I will hit my knees and ask God to please take it so I can let loose my unfiltered anger, and if I do act in such a way that displeases God, I will make amends.  But for now?  It needs to come out before my entire soul, both body and spirit, become ill.

The fact of the matter is this: I have felt and endured betrayal and haven't been angry about it.
THAT isn't healthy or natural or doing anyone (except the addict) any good at all.

Finding a healthy way to channel my anger is going to be a new journey -a new challenge -a new discovery.

In the meantime, I'll keep two songs on repeat.


(the lyric video using texts is so safe. The official video is pretty... well, let's just say it didn't do much for improving my anger.)

Simply Confused

Recovery has brought the miracle of simplicity to my life.

It's touched every faucet of my life.  I cook with less ingredients.  I use the oil cleanse for my skin care and have been able to literally DUMP all of my skin care products: no more moisturizers, no more cleansers.  Birthday parties consist of a homemade cake mix (boxed, baby!), ice cream and a small gathering of friends and family.  Birthday parties do NOT consist of invites (unless texts count?), any and all themes, any decor that can't be purchased on a whim from Dollar Tree... in short, Pinterest is NOT invited to my birthday parties.

With simplicity, life makes sense.

There's less information and more truth.

TRUTH was something that eluded me for years... probably because I was dead-set on the information track.  I was in fixing mode, wildly running through the masses with my fist in the air, refusing to surrender.
"Never give up!  Never surrender!"

Once I quit running.
Once I put my tightened, stubborn fist down.
Once I ran myself into the GROUND and couldn't take another step.

I surrendered.  And God gave me truth.

This weekend, I was coming off of literally running wildly... I'd been working extra hours, fielding phone calls, sleeping erratically, and by the time Thursday night rolled around I found myself in what my good friend Gary Cooper calls, "an extremely awkward position."
(From Casanova Brown which I highly recommend.  It's on Netflix and wonderfully devoid of triggers.)

After driving across town with three children... one pulling my hair, one with her feet where he head should have been and one yelling over the radio about his dreams of being a RED POWER RANGER for Halloween... I tried to unlock my front door.
But there was a moth in my face.
And in my beaten stupor, I batted at it.  It was pretty aggressive as far as moths go, and I ended up batting my arm with one hand and trying to put my key in the lock with the other hand.  In one strong SWOOP I swatted one final time at the moth and JAMMED my key in the door.
And OF COURSE the key I jammed in the door was my work key that looks exactly like my house key except for the cute coat of glitter nail polish I applied (and apparently ignored).
The key wouldn't come out of the door knob.
I wiggled and jiggled and pulled and yanked.
And I prayed.  I literally prayed for the Lord to open a door... not a figurative door, a LITERAL door.

My husband pulled into the drive way, freshly home from work.  He pulled.  I pulled.  He got pliers and pulled HARDER and MORE.
And the key broke off in the lock.

I called our landlords who have the keys to unlock our back door (we never use it) because I knew better than to try any of the windows.  I'm married to a cop which means ALL of my windows are LOCKED SECURELY AT ALL TIMES.  In fact, I check them myself and have been even more vigilant in checking since some recent break-ins. 
My landlord picked up the phone and told me he was very sorry but he wasn't anywhere near home and wouldn't be for quite some time.
I hung up my phone and sighed.
I wondered why bad things happened to good people.
I wondered WHY the Lord didn't just OPEN the door.  I mean, I'm NICE.  I even put my empty shopping carts back where they go in parking lots AND pick up litter.  The Lord can do ANYTHING, this I know.  The Lord loves me, this I know.
Surely, He wouldn't begrudge me this one small favor of opening my door. 
I prayed again.

And while I prayed, my husband called to me from the side of the house.
The kitchen window I KNOW I locked was open.

I prayed for the Lord to open a door, and He opened a window instead.

It was a physical metaphor for my entire weekend where I found myself blindly and wildly running with my fist in the air, searching for information and answers amidst a sea of words and opinions.

When I finally gave up and sat back and remembered how different simplicity felt from confusion, I let go.

Truth came.

And life makes sense again.
I'm grateful for windows and broken doorknobs.
And key makers, while we're at it.

Wives Against Porn Driving

--Before we begin, the winner of the hatchet charm is NATE('s wife).  Please contact me via email at brabadges@hotmail.com and I'll mail it out next week! --

A few months ago, I was struck with how awesome it would be to organize P.U.R.E.
Porn Use Resistance Education.
Get it?  PURE?  It's genius.  Aaaaaaaand total rip off from D.A.R.E.

But anyway.  This post isn't about education.  It's about how yesterday I woke up and began getting ready for work while my husband did a counseling session via webcam with Brannon Patrick.  I wish I could say the BEST thing that ever happened to our marriage was our three wonderful kiddos.  But it's Brannon.  Right now, it's Brannon.

I went around the house in my PJs, getting our daughter ready for school and planning my day in my head.  I worked REALLY hard NOT to hear what was being said in my bedroom... because I didn't want to know.  When I started hearing snippets of the conversation, I'd start singing the first song that came to my head.
"Walkin' the floor
Feelin' so blue.
Smoke cigarettes.
Drink coffee too..."

Since I started working, my classic country music streaming has increased by about 3005% and it's amazing how many old country songs resonate with a jaded lady.

But then my husband popped out and ASKED me to please join him.  So I did, in all of my just-rolled-out-of-bed glory.  Online meetings are the best.
I only talked with Brannon for about 15 minutes, and I really like the guy.
But he totally ruined my day.  No offense, man!

My husband is leaving on Monday morning for a two-month long training.  He will be home on weekends.
"Are you feeling fear?" Brannon asked.
"No," I said.
"Why not?  Is it because you trust him to stay sober or because you don't care?"
"I don't care," I shrugged.
He then told me that was okay... I was in an okay place.
And then he said it... the worst word to hear in a counseling session.

BUT.

"But... eventually you'll need to come to place where you do care, where you can begin to reinvest and fall back in love.  It's a hard thing, Alicia, and it's just not fair."

I like that he uses my first name.  I think he's the only person who calls me by my first name even when he's not mad.

I walked away from that session and just blew up a little.  A LITTLE, not much.
"It's like you're a drunk driver," I said to my husband, "And you HIT me.  I went to the hospital and they were nice to me and loved me and then the nurses patted me on the head and said, 'okay, pretty soon you've got to get back in that car and drive that same road and the same drunk driver will be there with you.  Hope he's sober!"
It's NOT fair.
It's not fair that I've worked SO hard to detach, to be safe, to be empowered.
And where do I find myself?  I'm LONELY, guys.  Straight up, no mincing words... I'm lonely.  This sucks.

It seems like everywhere I turn people are telling me this isn't about me, that I'm not the victim.  But I always end up controlled by this situation -I seem to spin on an axis that revolves around HIS choices, and I always end up hurt OR I end up lonely.  The fact of the matter is: I AM the victim. I HAVE been hit by a drunk.
Of course I can't live in that mentality, but it's okay to own it and be mad about it when I feel the gravity of it.

I appreciate empowerment, but I don't appreciate being lonely.
I appreciate not being hurt and playing the victim, but I don't appreciate how hard and cold I feel.
Brannon had said some of the richest blessings in life come from human relationships, and here I was all walled off and thinking how some of my most awful hurts had come from human relationships.

As I made a bottle in the late afternoon, I thought about this... I hadn't wanted to talk to my husband all day because in 15 short minutes that morning he'd gone from being my husband to being my offender.
I filled baby's bottle and added formula and shook, shook, shook.  As I did, it came to me.  As clear as day, I SAW it.

Yes, I was hit.  Years ago, driving wildly down a dirt road I'd never been on before I was sideswiped by my very own, very unsober husband.
I couldn't believe it, so I didn't.  I haphazardly bandaged my wounds myself and then got back in the car.  I drove a *little* more carefully, but still without much caution.  And again: I was hit.  And again, and again, and again.
For YEARS.  YEARS!  I tried to handle the situation on my own.  I thought it was MY fault, so I tried driving better, I tried making myself more noticeable so my husband would SEEEEEEEEE me and avoid hitting me.  I tried installing GPS for him.
But it was never enough.  The accidents began getting worse, more blood, more tears...
Almost three years ago, it was the worst it had ever been.  I couldn't get up and walk away from that accident.  I just rested in the mess.
Until...
A beautiful man came. He is my Savior.  He had the answers, the tools, the ambulance, and he had the power to heal me and my car.  I turned to him and gave up trying.

He took me in his arms, and I found rest in his hospital.  He was my primary physician and He had a team of specialists working under Him.
A sponsor.
A Therapist.
A Bishop.
My Dad.

Close friends would visit me in the hospital.  Some brought food, some brought music, some brought smiles, and some brought tissues and hugs.

One visitor they couldn't keep out was my husband.  He would visit me daily, if not more.  His visits weren't always nice... in fact, most often they hurt me MORE.  It seemed that even though I'd found my way OFF the rough dirt road, the drunk driver had found a way to manage his mission by simply STANDING by me and TALKING.
Ouch.
Ouch.
Ouch.

There were glimpses of remorse.  There were glimpses of honesty.
And then there wasn't remorse or patience or empathy or apology.

My team of specialists worked under the hand of the Master Physician, and as the years went by my efforts to heal were evident.  The bruises were fading.  I found ways to avoid my husband when he came to visit, and new bruises quit forming.
The breaks, the cuts, the hurt... they were all healing and fading.

One day, I found I didn't NEED to avoid my husband.  In fact, I confronted him.  I stood in the doorway of my own room and I told him
NO.
ENOUGH.

He turned and went away.  I turned and went to bed.
The next day -much to my surprise -my husband was there again.  This time he looked different, he talked differently.
I sensed real remorse, true sorrow.

The next day, it was the same.
This went on for a good while.  At times his visits turned ugly, and I'd ask him to leave.  But for the most part, they were good visits.
The bad visits would send me back to my specialists with anger and spit in my eyes... I would get on my knees and call my Physician and ask, "WHAT IN THE H-E-ECK-ECK I AM SUPPOSED TO DO HERE?!?!?!"

And here's my answer:
choose.

My husband is visiting me in the hospital.  And when I'm ready to leave, I can CHOOSE whether I want to get back in my car (the Master Physician is also a Master Mechanic, in case you were wondering) and get back on that old dirt road.  I know my husband will be there.
I get to make the choice.
My husband doesn't have that control.

Right now, I will observe his visits.  And I have NO idea how to start reinvesting and falling back in love, so I won't.
I'll leave that up to my husband.

And I will rest.
I won't get up or get ready to get back on any road in any car until I know of myself that it's okay.  I will know.

Because of everything going on in my life right now, I haven't been able to post this... but yesterday I remembered one of my specialists was a team led by Dr. Skinner.
I've been working on recovery for nearly THREE years.  And in three years of studying and education, I have never found a program I resonated with more than AddoRecovery.  The free education I gained with AddoRecovery has sustained me and helped me understand many of the WHYs.
I recommend it to so many women, and I will continue to do so.  Forever.



Sidreis' Story (Short) from Addo Recovery on Vimeo.

Betrayal Trauma is REAL.  Even if you can't physically see the blood and the breaks, you can FEEL them.

It's a few days too late to join the latest session (SORRY!) but there's a new one coming up on the 17th of this month.

Please go to addorecovery.com/join... there's a team of specialists for YOU.