Happy Hatchet Day

 

Grateful for you.

Grateful for God.

Grateful for family.

Grateful for hatchets.

Fire

A few months ago, I was sitting in the Temple when I blessed to see in my mind's eye a block of fire.  The flames weren't wild and untamed, rather they were uniform, every angle of the square block plainly visible.  I could see myself walking toward the fire.  I entered it, and I did not thrash -I walked boldly, slowly forward.  As I did, my outer layers were burned away.  I emerged from the block of fire a shining, gleaming core of refined, precious metal.

I've often thought of that experience as I've traversed these past few months.  It was a direct message from God -sent before it was vitally necessary. 

These past few weeks have been so hard on me.  Satan is working overtime.  The Lord is making His awareness of me plainly seen -He HAS to, otherwise I'd fall.  I'd be crushed under the blackness of demons.  But God is in my life -in the details, in the decisions, in the dark of night when I'm alone, and in the brightness of day when three children look to me for validation and love.

His message is loud and clear, "I AM HERE AND I KNOW YOU INTIMATELY."
It matches Satan's exactly.

For the past few weeks, the message coming over the Sunday pulpit has been "Hasten the Work."  The Stake President is saying it, the Bishop is saying it, the Sunday School Teachers, the Relief Society teachers, and I hunker behind the piano or organ and think about what I don't have to offer.
I haven't been visiting teaching in months.
I haven't been as present for my Mom as I should be (she just had surgery on her knee).
The babysitter bathed my daughter and clipped her nails because I hadn't.
I've missed the birthdays of people I dearly care about.
I haven't sent a single package to my sister since she moved away.

The list of my failings goes on.

During these past three weeks, I have forgotten that I'm walking boldly through a block of fire.  I'm not stooping or bending or looking behind me to see if someone needs a casserole... my eyes are pressed firmly forward.  My spine straight, my shoulders back, my head up.

I can't help but feel that when the Lord sends his message of "Hasten" He is speaking directly to and about His people.  Baptisms are important, yes!  But coming fully unto Christ OURSELVES -that is hastening in it's finest form.

As I look around me, I can see many, many of the people I love dearly (but apparently forget to send cards to when they age a year) being refined with FIRE.  This isn't a slow process.  It is HASTENING.  The Lord is hastening His work and calling on His people to draw near unto Him with full hearts and purpose written upon their souls.
Many of His precious children are afflicted, and He issues an invitation to healing -His infinite incomprehensible Atonement.  The 12-step program and education on addiction have led me personally to it, line upon line.  I can choose to take it or to leave it. 
Taking it means fire.  Taking it means tears.  Taking it means burned off layers.

Taking it means LIVING.

A few months ago, a sweet brother stood at the pulpit and tied his pornography addiction into the message of his talk.
And there before me stood a MAN, a man on fire, a man shedding layers, a living breathing Adam -his progress hastening before my very eyes.

The Lord has a job for each of us to do, and He will prepare us in His precious fire, in His own precious time.

I can rest in the Lord, knowing that I am being hastened.
I have chosen to live.

Hated

For the past few weeks, I have had a battle raging inside of me.

Life incidents have set in a motion of smug snowball of self-loathing, but I didn't notice it until the snowball was so big it was knocking constantly against my heart and soul.

I couldn't figure out what was wrong with me -intolerant hatred was pouring out of my mind constantly.  I felt heavy and sad.  Voices stirred from the back of my mind, "This IS YOU.  This is how YOU REALLY ARE."

I knew it wasn't true, but it felt so so true.
I've been criticized in small ways lately, and the criticisms have come from varying sources -each one small, each one adding a thick layer onto my muddy snowball.
After a conversation with my sponsor, I was able to vocalize what was really going on.

"I hate myself right now, and as a result, I hate everything."
This hate doesn't spring from anything inside of me.  I am not a hateful person.

But Satan hates me.  Satan hates women in general and reserves a special sort of hatred from women individually -knowing us as well as we know ourselves, yea, even better -he coils around our most sacred attributes, our most poignant feelings and twists them, turns them, manipulates them into filth.
Hatred is filth.

Battling Satan's hatred for me has been HARD.  It isn't something that goes away when the baby is crying or takes a sabbatical when I'm trying to make dinner for four in a messy house with no husband.
It is constant -as unchanging as the Savior's love.
The darkness is almost tangible.

I wonder what I have to offer -why I even bother getting up when all I ever do is leave my children to work and come home to a dirty house that my aching body can't grapple with.
I'm too tired to even cry, so I pick up a crochet hook and weave beautiful colors together in an effort to create something lovely.
Creating is my specialty -the specialty of all women.
We create beauty in every form imaginable.  We arrange flowers and produce laughter, we stitch fabric and buy throw pillows, we gather ingredients and our kitchens smell like home, we pay more attention to our dress, our hair, even pining over which color of eye shadow ought to be used for date nights.  We can delight every sense with our natural gifts: perfumes, silk, vibrant colors, uplifting music...
In short, we create and nurture life in every form... working hand in hand with our Father in Heaven, whether or not we are marked to create life in this mortal realm on not, women are unconquerable creators.

Satan hates us.  We stand for everything he despises.  We are the anti-demons.
Just as I weave brightly colored yarn through my fingers to create sturdy blankets and hats, so does Satan weave his blackened hatred through the tapestry of my soul.

This morning, I woke up to a blog post that sent healing tears down my cheeks -the tears that would not come these past few weeks have finally fallen.
Thank you, Jane.
I saw God today.

Remember you are LOVED.  Remember you are also HATED.  And don't ever confuse the two.

Getting Lost

On the third day of our honeymoon, my husband and I got lost in San Diego.  It's not hard to do.  Every street has the exact same name and they run circles around each other for fun.

As we drove around looking for a beach using a map (no GPS back then!) and our guts (no smartphones either!) we wound up driving aimlessly around, wasting gas and precious honeymoon time.

My new husband became frustrated.  I sensed his frustration, and knew right away it was my responsibility to medicate it, improve it, REMOVE it!  It was my duty.  I was, after all, his sweet new wife.  So I pulled our (film) camera out and began snapping pictures.
"What are you doing?" he asked.
"It's LOST DAY!" I said and asked to please stop looking so mad and start looking more "lost" so the pictures would reflect the day accurately in our honeymoon scrapbook (which still hasn't been made, thanks for asking).

Lost Day.
It was the most memorable day of our honeymoon filled with random pictures of places we saw and people we passed.  Our faces look sad, confused and pathetic (I posed us accordingly) (see picture above ^^^^). 

Lost Day became a game.

Being lost isn't always bad.  In fact, I might go so far as to say: it's never really bad at all unless you're under the age of 5.

Lately, I've been feeling like Alicia has been lost in the world of recovery work. 
I have a job because my husband has an addiction.
I go to meetings every week because my husband has an addiction.
I study addiction materials.
I make addiction calls.
I have an addiction sponsor.
I set up appointments with a reflexologist to help me manage my stress and physical pain caused by the trauma sexual addiction has brought into my life.

WHERE AM I in all of this?  Where is the girl who crochets and sews and writes and laughs?  Where is the girl who can look at a seemingly bad situation and find a LOST DAY in it all?

As I've thought about this, something rang true.  It rang LOUD and it rang CLEAR.

Right now.  Today.  I am more FOUND than I've ever been.

I am not lost right now.  Addiction recovery doesn't define me... it "finds" me.
I cannot get lost in recovery work.  I can only find more of myself as I practice the principles of the Atonement and come unto Christ daily.

When I come to Christ and my eternal Heavenly Father, I come to know them.  Coming to know them means coming to know myself.
I am a part of Them.  They have given parts of themselves to me!

Recovery has simply revealed as much to me.
As I continue to work it, it will continue to reveal more of me.

My life has San Diego days, when everything feels like I'm running in identical circles... and during those Lost Days, I can do what Alicia does.
Crochet something bright, crank Loretta Lynn, and take pictures of it all.  It's not 2004 anymore.  I have tools today that I didn't have on our honeymoon or for many years thereafter. 

I have GPS and a smartphone to go with my recovery materials and sponsors.

But how did I find those tools?
I got lost.

Getting lost isn't always bad.

Locked Down

This morning I paid a visit to my locked Recovery board on Pinterest.  It's full of educational articles, inspirational quotes, and relaxation yoga.



There's a link to some great Detox bath recipes.

And a few things that make me rethink the way I do yoga breathing:

My recovery board is my safe place -hidden and tucked away like the notes my friends used to pass me in elementary school.
For My Eyes Only.

After going through my relaxation routine this morning, I'm going to slather myself in essential oils and take care of my sick son.  I'm going to open windows and let fresh air in.  I'm going to listen to Italian Arias and clean my kitchen so I can bake bread.
There will be an old movie on the screen and a baby at my feet.

Today, I will take on the theme of the month and just be grateful.
Or, as my daughter said in family prayer last night, "Thank thee for everything except drugs."

It's Not About Words

 

I'm a word nerd, an English nerd, the one walking around getting ticked when apostrophes are in the wrong place.

So I'm a little taken aback at the realization that I had this weekend... I called my back-up sponsor (I need two.  I'm a special case) and said out loud, "Honesty isn't about words at all.  Words have nothing to do with it."

I always knew when my husband was lying, even if I didn't admit it to myself.  How did I know?  His behavior.  My gut said, "He is LYING, Alicia.  LY-ING!"  But I didn't want to accuse him, and I wanted to think the best of him... so I gave him the benefit of the doubt for a few months and then broke down in tears when the truth came out.
Was I mad at him because he was lying and I couldn't trust him?
Or was I mad because I knew and didn't trust myself?
Both.

Last weekend was hard.  My husband was home and I got to hang out with both sides of him. 
The weekend was spent with his family, all bunked up in different rooms at a motel.  The men hunted while the women took the children to the park.  We went out to the forest as a family and took camo-optional pictures.  We came home exhausted, and I went out to buy dinner for everyone because Hot n' Ready has improved my quality of life by 100%.
My husband came home from hunting to find his entire family eating up a meal I'd paid for and was touched.
As we walked pizza boxes out to the dumpster together (awww, I know...) I felt his heavy coat around my shoulders.
"You looked cold," he said.
Yes!  I WAS cold, but I didn't notice it until I was warmed up under his coat.
His gesture wasn't forced -it wasn't a "let me show off how awesome I am to impress my wife" kind of a thing.  It was simply that he could tell I was cold, he loved me, and he could protect me.  So he did.
At that moment, I felt it.  I FELT the care, the love, the concern.
Tears brimmed my tired eyes and I couldn't believe I was so moved by such a seemingly small incident.  He didn't use words.  He didn't SAY "I am aware of you and you are safe with me"... he lived it instead.

Hours later, my husband was using words .  He was apologizing.  He was sorry for the Jekyll that had come out unexpectedly.
And that time, I felt nothing.

As we spoke on the phone during the week, he said things to me I've been DREAMING of hearing for years.
"I truly see you."
"I am blown away by the person you are."
"I'm in awe, in total awe. I can't believe I get to come home to YOU."
And I feel... nothing.

I've been so worried about whether or not I'm keeping myself safe during this very strange period in our marriage where I'm not exactly married but have a husband.

This weekend let me know beyond a shadow of a doubt that I am just the right amount of unattached.  And it all happened naturally.  I LONG to feel truth in his words.  I long to feel the sincerity of apology. I long to feel the butterflies, the tingles, the Cloud-9ness of his wonderful words.
But I DON'T.
Because they're words.

And words have nothing to do with honesty.

If the words he's saying are actually true, he will live them.  And then, like a warm, wool coat over my shivering shoulder... I will FEEL them.

Into Me See

I wrote a guest post today for Jacy, and I'd love for you to read it!

At the Togetherness Project, Dr. Skinner talked about intimacy.  I equate intimacy with sex, but he said intimacy isn't about sex... at least, not primarily.  Intimacy is better pronounced, he said, as "into me see."

It all goes back to Avatar, I swear.

But I've been thinking about what he said, and I've been reading the book "Captivating" by Stasi and John Eldredge.  There's a lot to be said about intimacy, and I got squirmy when the authors began suggesting that women should strive to be intimate with Christ -to be romanced by Heavenly Father.

I felt like Marty McFly's mom, "This is all wrong... When I kiss you, it's like I'm kissing... my brother."

The authors suggested that the Lord woos us through beauty.  He desires us, He longs for us, He sees us and knows us and works tirelessly on our behalves.  They encourage women to look for signs of his love -I believe Elder Bednar calls them "tender mercies."

I set the book aside and let the words sort of... digest.  Did they sit right with me?  No.  Why not?
Because!
Because EW!
It's Heavenly FATHER!

And then I remembered "Into Me See."
And my soul hungered, faltered, and fell.

I want that.  Can I have that?  He wouldn't like what I have to offer.

I then realized in one swift and awful moment that I've never had intimacy in my marriage (or life? I don't even know.  My brain would explode if I tried to think that far back at this point).  I've never been seen beyond a certain point.
I've had sex.  Yes.
So I've always assumed that I've been intimate.
But sex is sex and intimacy is Into Me See.
If you have trouble grasping the difference, you can watch some Hollywood movies.  Or don't.  Because they're garbagey.

I read an article yesterday about Jimmy Stewart.  He mentioned his wife (of which he only had The One) and this is what he had to say:

“I could tell right off that she was a thoroughbred. For me it had been love at first sight. She was the kind of a girl I had always dreamed of. The kind you associate with open country, cooking stew and not fainting because it was made of cut-up squirrels. She’d look at home on a sailboat or a raft; in a graceful swing from a tree branch into the swimming pool.”

(Q: Why does it seem blush-inducing complimentary and NOT borderline offensive that he referred to his wife as a "thoroughbred"?
A: Because he's Jimmy Stewart, and he can make offensive things sound complimentary.)

I have read that quote at least 5 times, and it still gets me.  He SEES his wife.  Open country, cooking stew!  Nothing about her legs or breasts or clothes!  He gives us an in-depth look into his wife and we feel like we KNOW her without him saying a word about Her Looks.

He into-her-sees and as a result, WE into-her-see.  And THAT.  That right there is intimacy.  It's contagious and warm and more gratifying, fulfilling and satisfying that any amount or variety of  any kind of sex out there.

I want it.
I waaaaaaant it!

I've spent years searching for that deep connection.  I searched websites and companies dedicated to helping married people "date."  I created THIS basket and THAT game.  I planned and schemed and curled my eyelashes!  I worked out.  I baked!  I cleaned!  I read self-help books!
I WAS GOD!  The almighty, powerful!  I could save and fix and create and do it ALONE!

(Are you laughing right now?  or crying?  Either is an acceptable reaction.)

I turned everywhere but TO God because I thought (without realizing it) that I WAS God.
Ironically, God is the ONLY one who can fill my vessel.  My vessel is bottomless, ever in need of fulfillment and connection.
Who can fill an endless vessel?
Living Water, The Great I Am.

It's time to seek out that intimacy -it's time to truly understand a concept of connection that has alluded me since... forever.
It's time to seek more fully the Valentines from God.
Yesterday I was given three.  One of which was a Mormon Message titled Wrong Roads:




And one was an blatant over-abundace of gleeful giggles -no doubt in my mind they were Heaven sent.

The third was a woman testifying through tears of her own sweet Valentine from the Lord -and listening to her bear testimony that SHE was not only not forgotten but personally know and intimately loved by God was a gift all it's own to me.

Today I'm praying that the Lord will please send a Valentine that looks and behaves exactly like a housekeeper.
It never hurts to ask, right?

I will continue to battle my belief that what I have to offer is not enough to be worthy of intimacy, my fear that I'll fall short of the Lord's approval because of my character weaknesses.  But I will battle it today with God and not Google, with Christ and holy connection.
And?  *gulp* Intimacy.

Forgiveness is Hard

I have experienced the utter miracle of being able to forgive my husband for looking at porn -for looking and lusting and desiring other women.

It used to seem so impossible, and it was!  It was impossible for a very long time, but I always kept in on the radar.  And one day, it came.  It opened windows in my brain and let fresh air, sunshine, music, and beauty in.  Life seemed lighter, more hopeful and lovely.  It was a miracle -miracle is the ONLY word that even comes close to describing it, and even then it seems to fall a little short.

At the encouragement of my sponsor, I met with the Bishop yesterday.  She encouraged me to have regular meetings with him.  I couldn't figure out why, but since she's rhylly insightful, I always hearken to her counsel -at least to try it on for size and see if it's for me or not.

"How are you feeling about forgiveness?" He asked.
And I was stumped.  I had no answer.

I HAVE forgiven him.  I have!  It was hard, but I forgave him for the porn.

But guess what?  I'm still feeling anger, I'm still grieving.  I'm still hurting.
I still have need of forgiving my husband for other hurts -for his Jekyllness, his anger, his outbursts, his taking of my safety... I don't even want to go on with the list for reasons I'll outline below.

It was an inspired question for me.  My Bishop made it overwhelmingly and lovingly clear that he felt inspired to ask it and wanted me to know that he wasn't attempting to pressure me into something I wasn't ready for, and there was no shame in not being ready.

Forgiveness is officially back on the radar.
I'm not ready for it, and here's why:
#1) Needing for forgive means that I have been hurt which means I've been weak enough to let him hurt me again.  And by weak I mean stupid.
#2) Needing to forgive means that I'm accusing someone of hurting me.  Accusing people is not nice.  It's unChristlike.  I want to be Christlike, so I can't go around telling the Lord that his beautiful son hurt me. 

I didn't realize I felt that way until last night.
Those are my forgiveness roadblocks right now.

I listened to an interview Polly and her husband did with The Mormon Channel, and I heard them talk about Jekyll.  They described him as being an enemy of his spouse, and it really does feel that way.  My husband loves me, but I don't feel love when the other side of him comes out.  I feel... everything my enemy would WANT me to feel: unsafe, small, unloved, ridiculous...
And it brought to mind the words of Oscar Wilde.  If inner peace simply isn't reason enough to strive for forgiveness, there's always this:

I've had a lot of honest clarity lately... it's becoming abundantly clear that I've got so much work to do.  I've been working recovery for almost THREE YEARS and I have SO MUCH work to do.  I want to be depressed about it, but because I've been working recovery for three years, I can testify that I've gained more than I've lost and in a funny sort of way, I'm excited to gain more.

Last night, I faced some honesty with regards to intimacy.  It was no fun, and I'll probably cry a river into my bath this morning.
And then blog about it later.
Have I ever thanked you for always being there for me?  You're a doll.

I Blame Me

"Do you get triggered when he comes onto you?" My therapist asked.
"Yeah," I nodded.
"What do you do?"
"I change the subject.  I make a joke... I find a way to escape the situation without confrontation."
"You need to be honest," he said.

I need to be honest.

It sounds so simple!  But it ISN'T simple at all... not for me.  Words seem to choke in my throat even as they come out.
Fear chokes them.  Fear has incomparable choking powers.

What am I afraid of?
I asked myself this yesterday during church.
What keeps me from being honest about how I'm really feeling when my husband triggers me without realizing it?

He will feel bad, and it will be my fault.
In essence: I believe I will make him feel bad.

I will tell him I need space, and he will feel lonely and rejected.  I've always "saved" him from those emotions (I thought I did, but let's be honest... I'm not capable of saving anyone, including myself).  He will feel sad and maybe even angry, and IT WILL BE MY FAULT.

His negative emotions are my fault.  I don't want to manage his negative emotions, so I avoid confrontation like the plague.

I realize none of this is actually true... I realize that I need to be honest, and I know that his negative emotions aren't REALLY my fault.  I also know that my husband is a grown man: capable, responsible and smart.  He can handle his own emotions. 

I know the truth -I know the real truth... I hope someday soon, I'll really begin to believe it.