Put on a Show

My nearly 18-month old doesn't care for watching the television.
Unless the movie "Frozen" is on.

With Frozen, she's RIVETED.  She sings, she claps, she focuses and rests.  I should be sick of it by now, but I'm not.
When I hear, "Conceal, don't feel, don't let it show," it reminds to do JUST THE OPPOSITE.

I know that it's okay to feel, to have bad days, to be triggered, and to spend some time sobbing my guts up.  I know it because I've heard it.  I've said it.  I believe it.

But sometimes.
I don't.
DO it.

Why?  Because I'm afraid.
I'm afraid if I call my safe recovery people and blubber into the phone, they'll roll their eyes and think I'm gigantic weak baby.
Wah, wah.
I can practically hear my Dad's voice, "It's all in your head, 'leasha."

This last week has been so helly.  So awfully.  So darky.  So many ys.

AND THROUGH IT ALL I was trying to just be strong, to eat right, take care of myself and be perfect... I was trying to HANDLE IT instead of surrender it.
I did surrender some, but man.  MAN.  Not nearly enough.

Did you know that on Wednesday I ate amazingly?  I struggle with stress eating, and on Wednesday -one of the worst days this week -I ate nearly perfectly.  Better than I eat when I'm not in trauma!

I somehow excuse myself from the "progress not perfection" motto and strive -and refuse to settle for anything less than -perfection.  I must and will handle everything perfectly.

I vented on facebook.  I talked to my sister.  I talked a little with my mom.  I called my sponsor once.
I talked with my other sponsor once.
And I emailed.

So I REACHED OUT, right?
I did, RIGHT?!?!

But did I?  Did I actually?  Did I actually PICK UP A PHONE and let myself FEEL?  Did I take some time to let the tears fall when they began welling up?
I am here to say that this past week, I shoved them down.  I didn't call as much as I should have.

Calling makes ALL the difference, but my shame kept me from punching in numbers.

What if they're busy?
What if I bother them?
What if they think I'm whiny?
What if I come across as weak?
WHAT IF THEY HATE ME?!?!?!
And 'round and 'round the trauma goes.

Today my sponsor gently reminded me to REACH OUT and call and to work the steps harder and really, Alicia, REALLY... FEEL.  And it's okay to feel.  It's okay to have a bad week because they will come.  It's okay to struggle and cry and SOB until there's nothing left to shove down.
People may think you're crazy, but call anyway.

GET OUT OF THE TRAUMA.
REACH OUT.

FEEL.  Make one wrong move, and let it shine.  Let people see your messiness, and you might be pleasantly surprised at just how much you're LOVED in your brokenness.
When Danny doesn't let me see his struggles, I don't feel as safe, as open... but when he pours his broken soul out, I settle into it.
Why am I denying myself the same chance of acceptance from other women?

And just to get us started:
I'm terrified of making mistakes in recovery, of having to be accountable for them, of letting others down by showing weakness (?what the what?  I don't get myself).
I'm also realizing that I thought I was patient and nice and aware of others. And the more recovery I work, the more I realize I'm bold, impatient, unaware of those around me, frank, forward, and not quiet.
It's hard because I've fought against it my whole life.  Trying to accept that I'm a deep FEELER, a loud TALKER, and a bold, frank woman is scary.
I wanted to badly to be quiet.
To not be the kind of woman who blogs her life but sits quietly and reservedly and gently.

But God has other things in mind for me, and I can't seem to stay away from glass-house living (blogging).  I can't stop talking, I can't stop being BALLS TO THE WALL RECOVERY GIRL (pretty sure I need a cape.  And possibly someone to draw me thus).

I'm just me.
Imperfect.
And presently full of healthy chocolate cake.
Blogging in the middle of a messy house.
Even though guests are coming over in 30 minutes.
It's all okay though because I'm the queen of procrastination, and gosh dang it ALL if this house won't look presentable in 15 minutes.

And in the meantime, here's the only thing I can grow in my flower bed.

 

Tonight I'll probably put the kids to bed and watch a tear-jerker for the sake of letting some trapped tears OUT.

Although honestly, with my kids around, sometimes I'm laughing too hard to cry.  I mean, LOOK at that baby ^^^

 

On Being Alone

One of my deepest and greatest fears is being alone.

That isn't to say that I NEED a husband.  That is to say that I need connection.  I need others, I need authenticity in my friends. 

For YEARS.  YEARS.
I have been alone -the kind of alone that scares the you-know-what out of me.  Alone in my pain, alone in my journey, alone in my marriage.
Danny was always there, but he wasn't always there.  You know?  If you're reading this, you probably do know.

2 1/2 years ago, I was called to be a stake missionary for the ARP program -specific to pornography.  I began holding meetings.  No one came.  And then for a little while, there was a small number of women who came. 
And then no one.
Every week, I'd drive to the Seminary building and outside for 15 minutes, and those 15 minutes are some of the most awful 15 minutes of my life.
It sounds dramatic, I know.  But really.  15 long, silent minutes to remind Alicia that she is alone.

I finally quit going.  I just couldn't do it anymore. 

I would talk about addiction and recovery in my marriage, and Danny hated it.  He would ask me to please not ruin our date/a good day/drive/walk with talking about IT.
I was alone.

There are women who understand to some degree this pain.  I pray they will come out of the cracks and take my hand. 
I pray for women's healing and recovery.

Most all of my support is online.  Facebook and phone calls.  I'm grateful for that.  SOSOSO grateful for that.  I didn't realize HOW grateful until last week when my Lifestar group was abruptly dissolved.

Danny's group will continue, but mine is being wrapped up.  Today is my last session.
And I can't find another slot anywhere else... yet.

This last week I've been near tears so often.  I feel like a victim.  I feel sad.
I feel like my emotions are MORE than they should be which means I'm having a trauma reaction.  Why am I having a trauma reaction?
Because I feel alone.

I know I'm not alone.  I KNOW that. 

But I finally was attending a group and Danny was attending a group... and we were doing this TOGETHER.  I wasn't alone in my marriage with this recovery group.  It was even Danny's idea!  That meant so much to me.  There was a lot of safety in attending.

Now I feel left behind.
There's no local groups, no nearby Lifestar to scrape me up and take me in.
There's just Alicia facing her fear -realized once again -of being alone.  The crickets are chirping, the street light is flickering, and my sweater is thin.

I have no idea what's ahead, no idea.  Maybe Lifestar isn't for me.  It isn't the end of the world.
Really, it isn't.

And I don't like FEELING like a victim. 
The past three days have been so dark and awful.  The support I do have of women who KNOW, women who get recovery and everything it takes (which is sometimes everything) is priceless to me.
Priceless, priceless, priceless.

Right now I need spiritual guidance, education, 12 step, and a counselor.  I need self care and simplification.
It takes a lot of effort to work recovery... a lot of dedication, commitment, and heart. Spiritual, emotional, physical and mental awareness! Talking with women who know relieves me.  Not having women who know to talk with triggers trauma.

God knows me.
God knows my desires.
God knows my willingness.
And God is in control.

Everything will be all right, and knowing what I know, I can testify that I am never TRULY alone.  Ever.

The Old Adage

"It's not about the porn."

I can't even keep track of how many times I've said that.  It's become a sort of blanket statement -it protects me.  It protects me from people who wonder why porn bothers me so much.  I adopted it and even came to believe it because I felt so much shame when anyone would minimize porn.
I felt broken and weak because porn bothered me so much.  Surely, something so trivial shouldn't cause such a WAVE of PAIN in a someone who dares to think of herself as a true, independent, smart and strong WOMAN.
It's just porn.
Their words echoed in my head.

"It's just porn.
At least he's not actually cheating.
It could be so much worse."

And then there's the...
"If it were just porn, I could handle it.
There's so much more going on here.
He doesn't connect at all.
He doesn't see me.
He doesn't even try."

The bigger picture message sent by society is the same:
"Porn is normal.
Porn is common.
Everyone does it.
Porn is no big deal."

And I believed it all.  I knew I still wasn't okay, but I realized we had bigger problems than porn, and that's when I began adding, "It isn't even the porn" to the beginning of my story.
"It's the lies, the behaviors, the secrecy, the shame, the double life..."
AND THEN I was okay.  Then I felt validated in my pain, I felt like I finally had ENOUGH EVIDENCE or something... accepting that porn hurt me just wasn't okay because porn is such a little bug in a sea of awful things that can plague a marriage.

Right?

Thursday night as we drove home from our grocery shopping, Danny and I had a lot to talk about including a big trigger I'd had earlier in the evening.
So I began, "It isn't even about the porn..."
And he said something that struck me to my very center... the kind of feeling I get when I hear TRUTH.
"Stop saying that.  It IS.  It IS about the porn."
I didn't know what to say.  Or how to reply.  Or what he meant.  Was he being mean?  or defensive?  or was he trying to explain something...?
I asked him what he meant, and he spoke with such fire... between his fire and the fire lit in cavity of my chest, I didn't really know what to say or do.
The truth struck me.  And it struck me hard.
 "Alicia, saying it isn't about porn is minimizing.  Porn is the reason for ALL of this... [meaning the issues in our lives and marriage].  Porn is where it all stems from: the disconnect, the addiction, the double-life... and I don't like hearing it isn't about the porn because it makes porn seem like no big deal.  And it IS.  It IS about the porn.  When it comes right down to it, it IS about the porn."

And the truth is:
It IS.
This whole thing IS ABOUT PORN.

So often porn is minimized by others around me, and instead of standing up and fighting for what I believe, I've given into fear of being viewed as weak in others' eyes and minimized along with them, thereby becoming part of the problem.

Is porn THE problem?  No.  Not alone it isn't.
But porn is a DRUG and one of the main gateway drugs into sex addiction.  It was THE GATEWAY drug for Danny, and it is the main problem in what's wrong with our marriage.

My marriage has been RIFE with lies, yes.  Shame, secrets, double living, YES.
There's also been disconnect, manipulation, controlling, rationalization!  YES!

Danny has spent a decade with me and has never fully SEEN me or APPRECIATED me.

WHY?
Because his brained was wired to look at the world from the point of view of, "What does this person or situation have to offer me?" instead of "What do I have to offer this person or situation?"
WHY?
Because he looked at porn and became addicted.  After seeing it once, ONCE, he began implementing patterns of thought and behaviors that would haunt him and his future family.

And I speak from the pain and depths of the soul of a woman robbed...

IT IS ABOUT THE PORN.

And he has cheated on me.
And I have spent an entire marriage unseen and in disconnect.

I vow to bravely live as my own husband dares to... acknowledging porn as the giant it is, giving it the credit is deserves, and standing up as a woman of God to speak my truth, "Porn isn't small.  Porn kills.  It kills love, YES.  But porn kills souls, dreams, and youth."

I make this promise now to myself, to you, and to Danny:
I'll stop saying it.
I'll stop saying, "It isn't about the porn."
Because you're right, Danny.  It IS.  For me, for us... it most definitely is about the porn.

I have been hurt by so many I love that have minimized pornography.  In an attempt to protect myself, I've adopted the attitude that porn isn't even on the radar of what affects me anymore.
And THAT.
That is something to mourn.

I should be posting statistics.  I should be posting scientific findings and pie charts and prophetic quotes.  But I'm not.  Because I don't have to prove my pain anymore.  I don't have to explain it or make you okay with it. 
All I have right now is the experience on my back, and that Experience says, "Porn is worse than hard drugs, and you live with someone who battles an addiction to it.  And you, great girl of God, are on Refiner's Fire.  This fire will burn fear and shame from your core and replace it with Christ: His Strength, His Love, His Confidence in God.  Walk on, and do not faint."

I can not live in fear of what others think -I can not act on that fear, live my life from that place!
I know that the Lord has never minimized my pain -the pain that has stemmed from a rottenly fertile seed planted in my husband's brain nearly 20 years before we ever met.

This whole thing?  This pain I'm going through?  It's about porn.
The rest is symptomatic.

Love is an Open Door

At work yesterday, I read a news article on Yahoo! about a big child-porn bust in NYC.  Reading it made me physically ill.  But after the nausea came the hope.

Maybe.
Just MAYBE.

Folks will read words like, "child porn" alongside of "police chief, rabbi, boy scout leader, nurse..." and start to realize that PORN in all it's devious and heinous forms is not a "Mother's Basement Crime."
It is a street crime, committed by those sworn to protect us, to protect children and to honor the law.

That set mentioned above could probably be plucked from any number of cities.  Child porn isn't an NYC problem, it's a gigantic world-wide problem.

People don't KNOW this.  People don't really know.  I've bumped up against so many who can't fathom why my husband would look at porn because they believe I'm beautiful.  They know I'm not frigid or cold, and I offer love and affection to Danny.
They don't realize that
a) Porn is rampant
b) Porn is a gateway drug to behavior
c) Porn is looked at by at least 75% of men (40% of women?  is that stat right?)
d) Porn has NOTHING to do with the spouse's looks, behavior, actions, efforts, boob size, sexual performance, athletic agility, cooking ability, level of education, nicety factor, or fashion sense.

So I was ill yesterday morning, but underneath my stomach ache floated a beautiful ray of hope.

AWARENESS.
Awareness is being raised because porn and sex addiction are getting wildly out of control.

Perhaps that article and similar articles will open doors of (dare I say it?  think it?  begin to hope for?) UNDERSTANDING for wives, partners, and spouses of sexual addicts?

Reports of the Summit in DC are rolling in, and I'm soaking them up.
I don't recommend the article on the child porn bust (unless your stomach is stronger than mine), but I do recommend:

Scab's post that follows Rebecca through the Summit
And Jacy's post that tells of her experience attending

Raising awareness.
Porn kills love.
Awareness opens doors.
Doors of love.

Love is an open door.
(go ye therefore into your day with Frozen songs stuck in your head.)

Snippets

Lately I've found myself stumbling on great stuff that just really hits home with healing, so I take out my phone and snap a picture.  I'm posting them all here so I don't lose them in the mass of selfies my kids have been taking.
Seriously.  THE MASS.

A poem from my husband's cousin's funeral program.

Sometimes I feel so awfully alone.  When I'm online, there's TONS of support.  One click onto facebook and there's my support.  But when I log off (which I've been doing more of these days), there's a dark lie in the back of my mind that creeps out when I go to church.
"You're alone.  No one understands you, no one is talking about this.  You're the only one."

I know it's not true, and yet...

In my increase of logging off, I've picked up Jane Eyre again.  Have you ever read it?  There's a lot of truth in it.
Here's some words of wisdom from Helen Burns (may she rest in fictional literature peace):

Another Jane Eyre quote I love, "The shadows are as important as the light."  It gives a beautiful sort of purpose to the depression I'm battling.
So glad I wrote this down to rediscover a few days ago:

A quote shared in support group today:

(snagged that beaut' off Pinterest. ^^^^)

And lastly is an original work of art brought to you by me and Lifestar.  Or should that read "Lifestar and I"?

Either way:
I was supposed to come up with an artistic representation of what codependency looks like to me.
As I thought about this, and I thought about how I feel about codependency... I came up with a collage.

First I want to just get this out there: I do struggle with control.  I want to control people and things and places and situations, and YES even movie plot lines.  THAT ties into codependency.
And when you tie in the trauma survival technique of doing codependent things... you get a pretty nice mess of a girl sitting on rock bottom with a blanket and a few boxes of Little Debbie snacks.

What does that world look like to me?  How has it shaped my life?
I put my phone on mute and listened in on a recovery meeting as I pulled out my old magazines and started tearing.  I penciled in some train tracks in the middle of the page, glued a train on top... then glued my face UNDER the train tracks and heavy, black train.
I tore strips of black pages up and glued them around the train: fear, shame...

I carefully cut out bright patterns and colors that caught my eye.  I glued them around me.

I know I have worth.  I know I'm a beautiful creation with tastes and gifts and purpose!  I believe in the girl who lives a creative life of bright colors and crazy ideas.
But when shame comes.
When fear creeps.
Worried about what others think, afraid of rejection, of being alone, of being left...

Railroaded.
I'm railroaded.

That's what codependency means to me.

But you know what I did today?  I cancelled three piano lessons on today's roster because they were just too much.
I was afraid of upsetting parents, but I did it.

Now there's less time for overscheduledness and more time for Jane Eyre and watermelon.
And color.

The Great Equalizer

Eight years ago over Easter weekend, I sat in a chapel in a gigantic hospital, two hours from home.  It was the ONLY quiet corner of the hospital where I could go to think, to process what had just happened.

I had lost a pregnancy.
My only pregnancy.

I found myself suddenly part of a club... a club I didn't want to be in, but one that left me so grateful for the other members.  It seemed only they knew exactly what to say.  The professional help could only go so far.  Family only understood a little.  But my new club?  I still find comfort when I think of the sorrow in the eyes of women who knew.

They didn't try to comfort me so much as they tried to be real, honest, and empathetic.  Scratch that.  They didn't TRY.  They just WERE.  They were real, honest, and empathetic.
"You'll never forget the due date."
"You'll see kids the same age and wonder what if..."
"Just cry.  Don't stop.  Just cry and don't stop yourself."
"I am so sorry."

Their words meant more to me than any other words.

A few months ago, I attended the General Women's Meeting and made it clear until the third note of the opening song before I burst into tears.  
Simply being a woman puts me into a bigger-picture kind of a club.  President Eyring hit the nail on the head when he said, "You are more alike as daughters of God than you are different."
Yesterday I attended a baptism and sat next to a elderly widow.  She opened a locket around her neck and revealed it's precious contents to me: a picture of her most-loved and missed husband on one side, and a younger picture of her on the other.
"I vear it always," she said in her beautiful Dutch accent.
In that moment, I was her equal... a beautiful daughter of God who has known love, who has cherished it, and who was traversing this angry and wonderful world AND MOVING FORWARD.

Being a wife of a porn addict has put me -yet again -in a club.  The kind I never, ever wanted to be in... but the kind that makes me so grateful for the other members.
This is the kind of club where all sense of popularity goes wildly out the window, and we all meet together in soul and SEE and KNOW and LOVE.
It doesn't matter how we got here, how old we are, what language we speak.
There's no "who's who" of porn addiction.

I recently read an article that detailed Tori Spelling's recent marital chaos. 
"No amount of sex was enough," she says.
Ah, welcome to the club.  Celeb status can not separate us, Tori.  I know your pain.

As I've dwelt on This Club, I felt such a pull, such an urge to simply say

REACH OUT.  Please.  If you find yourself in This Club, REACH OUT.  We are the same.  I understand your pain, I understand your world.  I know what THIS feels like, and you
YOU

My sweet sister,
Are not, nor will you ever be

Alone.

We are the same.
Equal as daughters, equal as wives (or partners) of addicts.
As equal in the eyes of God as we are equal in pain.
Share it, declare it.

I'm here.  A entire circle of women are.  This club is filled with women who have "...tender, caring hearts, backbones of steel and hands that are prepared for the fight." ~Stasi Eldredge 

It's such a privilege to know the women I do, to share in their reality and to see them rise up from their darkest hours... an unbreakable, immortal hydra: roaring, unconquerable, bursting with courage and confidence and absolute determination.

The End of Numb

I remember the first time I found out about porn.  I caught him.
A newlywed with all her bloom and youth and tight skin pulled over energy and twitterpation... I turned into a different creature.  To say I was devastated would be a gross minimization.
Oh, how I FELT that discovery, how I lived it over and over again in my mind -the worst rerun in the history of TV Land.
I felt sure I would never go through it again.  I didn't know that porn was something that was less like a "whoopsie daisy" and more like the worst kind of blood-deep poison.
But it did happen again.
"And again and again and again!" to quote my favorite Uncle Willy (The Philadelphia Story).

I tried reasoning, shaming, bargaining, saving, preventing, more shaming... I OVER"loved" him.  Nothing worked.
I poured my entire self into the poison.
My life and obsession, my sole hobby... it was Danny.  More than anything, I wanted my marriage covenants to remain intact.  I wanted my family together forever.
I loved Danny.  I loved our marriage.
I understood his weakness, and gosh darn it ALL if I wasn't THE MOST PATIENT wife in the history of the universe.

Do you know how long you can last trying to compete with porn?  Oh, I think the answer is different for everyone.  But for me, personally, it lasted about 6 1/2 years.  At that point, I began doing recovery work.  I read the books, I found support.  I gained education.
I knew I was getting better because the devastation I felt all those years ago was beginning to dissipate.
He would come to me with disclosures (or I would fine evidence), and I shrugged.
Eh.
Meh.
Blah.
Whatever.

Then I would look at myself in the mirror and work on the only thing I had control over: ME.
I continued living with an addict.

I choose my marriage.  I choose my marriage to an addict.  But the only way I could survive it was numbness.

It felt like I was sitting on a couch, watching Groundhog Day over and over again... yelling at the screen, pulling my hair, but in the end... I was utterly powerless over Danny's actions.
The numbness made it go down easier.

Only.
There were certains in my house who weren't numb.  In fact, they were the OPPOSITE of numb.  They're impressionable, sensitive, and internalizing everything.
I watched tears stream down my daughter's face after an outburst from Dad.
"Because I did something bad," she sobbed.

I started realizing that for all the patience I had, for all the CHOOSING MY MARRIAGE I had done... the return, the truth... was ugly.  Facing seemed to feel a lot like heartbreak -something I had shielded myself against.

But the Lord has a way of providing us with what we need, even if we don't want it.
He provided me with truth: hard evidence that no matter how you sliced it:

Danny was not choosing our marriage.
Danny was not choosing me.
There was no real recovery.

I knew -though it killed me -that I couldn't stay.  I wouldn't stay.  Staying in a marriage where I was cleaving unto God and my husband (and fear, while we're at it) was pointless.
I married for ETERNITY.  Not time.  A time marriage made no real sense to me.  I was hell-bent on eternity.

But I could not force it on any other person.
And so the time came when that person had to go away because my marriage -though it began in the Temple -was something I'd feared since I was a child.
It was pointless.

To maintain my peace as a woman of God and a mother of three beautiful children (yea, THE MOST beautiful children), I had to sever ties.  I had to leave my marriage.
God was my guide.

It turns out that I can't live numb... primarily because "living" and "numb" can't actually coexist.
I'm not powerless anymore.  I'm not watching scenes go down at shrugging anymore.
I just can't!
I just can't!  SO MUCH.
Thinking of The Numb Place makes me feel so sad.  Reminders of The Numb Place make me feel sorrow.

I want to LIVE.  I want joy and pain and sorrow and happiness.
I want feelings to come into my body and I want to EMOTE them out: write them, scream them, sing them, talk them!
I want a marriage where my husband CHOOSES ME and LOVES ME and SEES ME AS AN EQUAL and REMAINS WITH ME INTO THE ETERNITIES.

I seal that desire with the death of my marriage.
I seal that desire with baptism by fire.
I seal that desire with love... my failing love of God and His unfailing love for me.

The future is alive, and in His hands.

(and as it turns out, I'm not the patient person I thought I was all these years.  In fact, I have no patience at all.  For anything.  Hello, Character Weakness.)

SA Lifeline Conference Report

Two weeks ago today, I was standing in the parking lot of the Snowflake Temple, freezing in the late night breeze.
I was also doing nothing.  Nothing at all.
While I was busy doing nothing, my visiting teacher was on the pavement with an elderly brother, pulling a spare tire out of her minivan.  Another elderly brother was jacking the van up.
Earlier that day, my sweet visiting teacher -who had recently become made aware of our story -had called and offered to take me to the temple.  She offered her daughters as free sitters for my children and bought me dinner.  I sat in the Celestial Room and prayed that night... prayed so long.  Longer than everyone else.
SO LONG, in fact, that when we got out of the Temple and noticed we had a flat tire, we couldn't get back into the Temple to ask for help.  It was locked.  Eventually a few bretheren noticed us and came to help.
As they did, I saw the situation and couldn't help but feel it was definitive of my life right now.

Everyone else is doing everything.
Feeding me, caring for me, helping me get to conferences I need to be at, taking care of my kids...

And I'm standing.  Still standing.

Getting to the SA Lifeline Conference was an act of God.  It was absolutely an act of God put into motion by his mortal children.
Words aren't enough.  I don't have enough thank you notes.  It is too much.  God is great and miraculous. 

Danny and I sat next to each other and listened with eagerness, our eyes only sometimes filled with tears... the tears that pain brings.

To those of you who I met at the Conference: THANK YOU for sharing yourself.  THANK YOU for your phone numbers.  You've been in my heart since I walked outta that room. 

Summing up what was talked about seems so impossible.  I will try.  I will.  But I feel so strongly that it will not be enough and will not do justice.  There will be future conferences, though none are yet planned, and I can only encourage you to ATTEND.

We started with a prayer, a talented woman sang a touching song about grace, and messages were shared from then until 2 pm.
There were messages about how pain turns into shame. 

How there's five different types of pain (physical, emotional, spiritual, sexual, and relational) and how we manage that pain makes a world of difference.  Turning inward is so dangerous (I'm lookin' at you, addiction).  Turning outward (to God and others) is healing and healthy.
As a wife, I turned outwardly with my pain in this addiction... and when I turned to my husband, I was met with more pain.  I was met with double messages.

 Danny seemed to be two different people entirely.  Sparkling and wonderful on the outside but messy and dark on the inside.

Feels pain.
Sees pain.
I felt powerless.  Sort of like I was in a starry night, screaming... while my placid husband pushed me away with his pitchfork.
I mean really:

REALLY.

The lack of intimacy caused a great deal of trauma.
I learned that I have feelings but feelings are not emotions.  HOWEVER, I need to emote my feelings because I was not built as a vessel to hold feelings.  No one is... no one but the Savior.  The Savior took on all the feelings.  I need to emote my feelings to be healthy.
Healthy goes something like:
Feelings in, emotions out.

Unhealthy goes like:
Feelings in, in, in, Netflix, frosting from a can, numb.

I am meant to depend on Danny, to work with him as a TEAM, and codependence isn't something I am... it's behaviors I've taken on as a result of trauma (though I do still battle codependent behaviors outside of the addiction).

Intimacy is healing, but intimacy can not exists without honesty.  Intimacy doesn't involve sparkling, glossy men with pitchforks behind their backs.
Intimacy isn't about sex.
But sex addiction isn't about sex either.

Intimacy is about SEEING each other with no glossy sparkles around us... intimacy is seeing the real, the raw, the TRUTH of the person you live with.
Intimacy is the relationship I have with God, IF I WILL LET MYSELF. 
Intimacy is a choice.
Intimacy is part of recovery.

10% of recovery is filters and prevention and sometimes (a lot of times) white knuckling.  We call this PHASE ONE RECOVERY.  In this phase, we don't like discussing recovery much.
90% of recovery is feeling pain, reaching outward, being vulnerable and intimate, honest and transparent, humble and repentant!  We call this PHASE TWO RECOVERY.  In this phase, we simply can not shut up about recovery.  In general, this involves a Step One Disclosure.

And here's some graphs and charts that you'll understand because you're living this.
For those dealing personally with addiction:

The SELF is in the center in the first graph.  God is in the center of the second.
For those who live with and love those dealing with addiction:

 The center of the first chart is the ADDICTED LOVED ONE.  AGH!  Have you been there?  Have you LIVED THIS?!  I have.  Yes, I have.  And the trauma goes 'round and 'round.  And the over-scheduled wife throws herself into ANYTHING that will offer her some sense of validation, some sense of being seen and valued.

But God is in the center of healing: education, spiritual guidance, therapy, working the steps!

And one more for the marriage:

THIS.
THIS is the stuff we can sink our teeth into, my sweet fighters.  This is action and healing and it is NOT easy. 
The pathway to progress is painful.

But I am SO READY for progress.  I am so ready to do whatever it takes to heal. 

Did you know it takes honesty? 
Did you know it takes me saying, "I'm not okay.  I'm not safe.  I'm uncomfortable.  I will not allow..."
Did you know it takes me being BRAVE and scarily courageous with my words and actions?
Did you know I'm doing it?  Because I know now I can not live any other way.

There were classes on talking about this addiction in the home with our children.
There was a panel of therapists.
There was so much RECOVERY that it fairly seeped out the door and onto the pavement outside.

I can give you a taste -a glimpse. But I encourage you to sign up for the next one (date forthcoming). 

And now I'm logging off to watch Frozen again.  Because I've been gone for FOUR DAYS and I miss my kids.

If you have any questions or want more information about a certain topic addressed at the conference, please leave a comment or contact me.  There's a lot more information, but I don't feel like it should all be here on my blog.  But if you want more, ask away.

SA Lifeline Conference Announcement!

I dreamed last night that I hired a sitter to watch my older two children while I attended the SA Lifeline Conference in Utah this coming Saturday.

I told the sitter, "I'm taking my baby."

And then I woke up this morning and realized.

Nope.

I'm NOT taking my baby.  And now I want to cry like a baby.  She'll be okay while I'm gone, SURE.  I'm leaving her in extremely capable hands.  At this point, it's not HER I'm worried about.  It's her blubbering mother.

That said:

I can't believe it's only days away!  This is amazing, you guys!
As the conference has neared, I've received word that the line-up as changed a bit.  Jeff Ford from St. George Lifestar will be the keynote... check the new and improved flyer out!

There will be some fantastic, recovery game-changing goings on that you will NOT want to miss... The Lord has made it clearly, plainly, and powerfully known that Danny and I should attend this conference, and we've worked hard to make it happen!

SA Lifeline Conference -May 10th, 2014

I hope you'll come to the Conference. I'd love to meet you and share this life changing experience with you! Even if you can't come, please share the flyer.  You have my permission to link up to this blog on facebook or any social media site you normally share on. This conference is great for not only families affected by pornography addiction but Bishops and clerical leaders!

The training they'd receive on Betrayal Trauma just makes me want to cry.  and dance.
To say nothing of how excited I get over Bishops being trained by pros.

This is a rare and beautiful and amazing opportunity to hear the words of experienced counselors and experienced PEOPLE -wonderful people who have been through this for YEARS.  It's a gold mine of education.

Broke Her Shoelace

There's all these songs about bad days.

Everyone relates to them because EVERYone has bad days.  I turn them up on bad days and appreciate the sound blaring through my speaker because it humanizes my emotions -and I don't feel alone.  I somehow feel like society as a whole is out there singing along because no matter their age, weight, hair color, religion, or preferences in pets... THEY GET BAD DAYS.

Three years ago, I had a bad day that lasted 6 months.  It was agonizing.  I didn't know where to go, where to turn, what to say.
I hated my situation in life.
I didn't know how to handle it.
I ate and cried.
And then I hated myself for eating and crying.
The hate consumed me from all sides: the outside AND the inside.  I hated, and hate loved me.

I was never angry, but I was hateful and cold and distant and absolutely HURTING.

Today was a bad day.  The emotions that coursed through me during those 6 months have been with me today.

But there's something different about this bad day.
I don't hate my situation in life to the extent I used to.  I understand it, and I see beauty in the mess I used to feel so much shame over.
I know how to handle it, and I know that if I don't handle it EXACTLY RIGHT, that's okay to. 
I still eat, and I still cry.
But I don't hate myself *as much* for eating.  I don't hate myself *as much* for crying.
Would I rather come out the end of this day NOT feeling like a victim and munching on celery coated in chia seeds?  Yeah, but it's okay to be where I'm at now.
It's okay to feel this pain and resentment.

The biggest help of all is simply this:
I
REACH
OUT.

I call someone and tell them what I ate.
I call someone and cry.
I text.
I write.

And with a constant heavenward stream of unfiltered thoughts, I make my way to the kitchen and make waffles for dinner.
Because that's the best I can do right now.  today.

Chia seeds will have to wait their turn.
Chia seeds are for days when there isn't hurt.