Return to Sanity

In our online group meeting this week, we read Step 2.  One of the questions that follows reads:

What does it mean to be restored to sanity?

The opposite of sanity is, in my own world, the place I go to where every other thought is the thought every spouse of an addict is familiar with:

Am I crazy?

In that place, I am blocked.  I can not hear my own gut -my put-there-by-God-and-filled-with-His-truth-and-light Intelligence -and everything begins to blur and swirl.  I short, everything feels like the way life looks when I take my contacts out and lose all sense of sight (except colors!) and depth perception.
Without the aid and help of lenses, I am legally blind my friends.

I went there this last week.  In that place, I was triggered more frequently and powerfully.  I was emotionally edgy, physically tense.  It occurred to me at one point that this state used to be my NORMALCY.
And I felt a little hope in that -as if what used to be my Standard Mode of Operations was now a sort of Lights Flashing, Sirens Blaring State of Emergency.

That's a sign of healing, right?

I know I'm in that painful place when I can not hear what I need.  I'm indecisive, scared, and anxious.

I recently finished reading a James Allen book, and I found therein a gem that has become a sort of imagery mantra for me (is that a thing?  Imagery mantra?... Something I picture in my mind when I feel like I'm crazy?)

 A return to sanity is, for me, being able to hear myself.

 It's finding and tapping into that depth Allen speaks of -it's a vibrant canyon for me, filled with everything God created to give me... in his own words from D&C 59:

18)Yea, all things which come of the earth, in the season thereof, are made for the benefit and the use of man, both to please the eye and to gladden the heart;
19) Yea, for food and for raiment, for taste and for smell, to strengthen the body and to enliven the soul.

Walking in that canyon at peace with God, climbing and hiking the up and the downs while the world above whirls with drama, intrigue, and dark storms of every kind.

It's my figurative happy place.  I can tap into it now and then, and I hope to someday set up camp there.

I hope to live within it eventually, as Frankl once found freedom from outer bondage within.  This life feels so binding, doesn't it?

I feel so limited in what I can do with the little knowledge I have... I feel the world beyond is filled with rich treasures of knowledge and wisdom.  This life is a life of bondage where we are called on to tap into the freedom that abides in the one place that carries heaven with it: our intelligence within.

It is our safe haven, and it can not be taken from us from any outward perpetrator unless we grant access.

Or unless we've been blessed with PTSD (or other mental illnesses) in which case, we've become victims of thievery of the absolute worst kind: Thievery of our inner selves.

The good news is we can reclaimed or be reclaimed through God.
And THAT, to me, is what a return to sanity to looks like... it's the return of what's been taken -my peace, my serenity, my voice, my worth, my ability to see myself and hear myself and honor that which manifests itself within.
I bring that manifestation going on within... WITH-OUT and THAT.  THAT is my return to sanity.

I speak up for my safety, set a boundary, remind myself that I am worthy of other people's time (a nod here to a great friend who spoke this truth to me and changed my perspective -you know who you are!) and SO REACH OUT.  I pray before, during and after.  I take any glimmer of voice coming from within and obey what it tells me: a walk, a yoga session, a few more hours without my contacts in, moving a picture in the house, taking off the pants that don't fit right, eating something that came from God's Good Earth (My Playground), taking time to put my bare feet in the grass, taking time to rehearse an affirmation:
I am confident.
I walk with my back straight.
I look others in the eye.
I am enough.
I have nothing to hide.
I do not fear my story being uncovered.
I walk with God.
I am light.
I am joy.
I am truth unfurled.

Without God, this is not possible, for it IS God who speaks to me from within.

God is my sanity, and I am his treasure.

Blingish

A few weeks ago, I was struggling emotionally -I don't remember exactly why -and I asked Danny for a blessing. 
In it he said that this Christmas would be the best Christmas yet, that there great blessings coming, and that as I continued to simplify my life, I would find more peace.

Hearing that great blessings were coming helped me get through that day.  As I climbed through the passenger side door of our broken Jeep to sit myself in the driver's seat, I remembered... great blessings are coming.  It probably would have helped to chant, "If thou endure it well..." but I didn't.

This Christmas season, and yes -even Christmas day! -have turned out to easily be the BEST I've ever experienced.  There's so many reasons why, but I wanted to stop in today and write about one particular reason.
Yesterday, I experienced a great deal of hope for my marriage and circumstances -more than I have had in two years' time!

Danny has been off work, and while I was concerned about that -how and where he would spend his time, I took things day by day.  Each day he has slept not only in the house with me but next to me in bed.  Each day I gave myself permission to ask him to leave, and each day I made the decision that he could stay.  We went on a date, shopping in the city, and I couldn't believe the peace we felt.
Was it perfect?  Eff no.  I had a meltdown in the middle of Target over spending so much on needed clothes for the kids.
We had agreed to simplify Christmas this year, use no credit cards (though we were fully broke because we'd used all of our fun money to take the family to Disneyland for our 10th anniversary in order to avoid that pain and triggers at home.  Healthy?  I don't know.  Successful?  You betcha.) and stay focused on what really matters.
Anytime I felt myself getting worked up or overwhelmed, I'd re-center and ask God, "Okay, what now?  I'm trying to control today, so forgive me and tell me... what's next?"
It was usually a nap.

The first holiday meltdown was had in the middle of the Target aisles, and this is remarkable for one good and solid reason: I usually don't allow myself to be honest and melt down -especially not publicly.  I was Queen Shove-It-Down!  and I was so proud, so very proud to be so very composed at all times.
But I'm not now.  I'm honest and real and more true to what I'm feeling, even if it's a meltdown over panties and socks.

A few days ago, I was triggered and I melted down again.  Danny gave me space to take a hot bath and then asked, "Did I upset you?"
The answer was yes, and I said it.  I said the word that I KNEW would bring confrontation.
I realize this isn't big for other people, but for ME -it was huge to be honest.
It was beautiful to feel that there was no other agenda for Danny other than LISTENING.
He wasn't formulating a plan to argue back, he wasn't becoming defensive.  He was simply listening to me.
You might call it an absence of the drama triangle, but I like to call it, "seeing Danny get outside of himself and connecting."

As we drove home from the city, I felt that hope and happiness that came from being on his arm, to visiting with him, talking about everything and laughing about nothing.
And then I said something I haven't said in 18 months, "I think I'm ready to wear a ring now.  At least, today I am."
In October, I picked a ring out in an etsy store -it was very dainty, very simple.
I fell deeply in love with the tiny pearl and thought of Anne of Green Gables -how she'd looked forward to seeing a diamond her entire life and when she finally was able to, was disappointed.  It wasn't all it was cracked up to be.  She had a pearl ring instead.
I love that it wasn't trying to impress or prove -it was happy simply BEING.  It seemed to embrace the spirit of simplicity, something I'm finding at my center.  I'm a simple being.
The ring sold soon after I'd found it, and I was grateful I'd screen-shot it on my phone.
"If you'll text me that picture," Danny said, "I can get a hold of the lady who made it."
On the 24th, I woke up and hugged him.  I said, "Too bad I didn't come to the realization earlier that I'd be ready on Christmas day to wear a wedding ring."
"That's what I was thinking," Danny shrugged and we both laughed because life is funny.

Thursday morning, we all gathered around and opened up simple gifts.  I gave Danny an iTunes gift card, some wireless headphones, homemade hair pomade (for his stubborn cow lick) and a personalized sign I designed that made him happy cry.
His gifts from me were wonderful: a porcelain shoe to add to my collection, a moon necklace with sentimental meaning ("what do you want, do you want the moon, Mary?" ~George Bailey).
The last gift under the tree was for me -it was a small box, and inside that small box was a ring box and inside that ring box was THE ring... the beautifully simply ring with a beautifully simple pearl!  I couldn't believe it!

As it turns out, the DAY after I'd found the ring back in October, Danny BOUGHT IT.  He has had the ring for two months, and the timing just happened to be perfect.


I wept, wept, wept and then I beamed the rest of the day.  I had the moon AND the world.

Snow fell last night, and as it sent us all off to sleep, I expressed my feelings to Danny the best way I knew how: wordy, wordy, worderson.
I told him how wonderful it was to see a transformation taking place inside of myself, inside of him, and inside of our marriage, how we were OKAY even when we weren't okay!
I feel at home with Danny -a sense of wonderful safety that I created within myself that somehow birthed this wonderful gift of CONNECTION.
Last night, we picked up a million tiny rubber bandaloom bands and put the 2 year old back in bed 50 million times and I couldn't help but give voice to what I think the Lord might be trying to show me:

I never would have thought that I'd find so much peace and pure joy in living in a broken mess -a broken messy home, marriage, and body.  It seems that all around me is swirling in broken, messiness... and last night I felt so peaceful and grateful.
Would I trade that peace for a newer car?  No.
Would I trade that peace for a bigger home that I actually own?  No.
And would I trade this pearl for a diamond?  Hell no.

I think of Anne and her tribute to her own pearls:

“But pearls are for tears, the old legend says," Gilbert had objected.
"I'm not afraid of that. And tears can be happy as well as sad. My very happiest moments have been when I had tears in my eyes—when Marilla told me I might stay at Green Gables—when Matthew gave me the first pretty dress I ever had—when I heard that you were going to recover from the fever. So give me pearls for our troth ring, Gilbert, and I'll willingly accept the sorrow of life with its joy." -Anne”

Our life is one of accepted failures and joyous victories, of tears of joy and tears of sorrow!  Our life together will be built from mutual respect, no other agenda but to individually ask God what He would have us do.
Will we do it perfectly?  Of course not, that's the most beautiful element to our tapestry.

My life has become about the present -leaving the future to God, I can honestly say that today I'm proud to wear a ring symbolizing my loyalty to Danny.  Today, I feel peace.  Today, I feel joy.  Today I feel fear.  Today, I feel human.  Today, I feel -I FEEL HOPE and JOY -and I will not let the future rob me of my present.
Tomorrow I might, but today I will not.

In a Million Little Pieces

Maybe I've said this before.
It's entirely possible.

When the Lord has something to tell me, He reiterates his message over and over... because my skull is THICK and I have small children.  If there's a message He feels I need to hear, I'll find it texted to me, emailed to me, quoted in lessons, posted on random facebook walls.

AND THEN I go, "Oh, wait... WAIT.  I think something's coming through..."

Sometimes its a song, sometimes a poem, a quote.
This time around it's an idea... a word, a symbolic word.

Stuff all around me is breaking, breaking, breaking.  Toilet chains, car doors, gall bladders, MY MARRIAGE (things escalate quickly around here).
I've been moping and murmuring... moaning and groaning, "God, would be it be too much to ask to just have the toilet flush?  The sink to drain?  The car door to shut?" Each small, stinging reminders of the bigger broken issues in my life.
I broke a vase this morning, a beautiful bowl two weeks ago.
Shattered shards flying,

 My soul prays: God, this is ridiculous.  I've longed deeply for security and safety and all I'm being served is broken EVERYTHING. I. am. TERRIFIED.
I'm financially broken.
Physically broken.
Spiritually broken.
Emotionally broken.

Depression reigns my brain making me feel like a stranger here.

God, this is ridiculous.  Can't you see?!  Am I to be The Eternal Service Project?  The Girl Who Used to Contribute but Somehow Just BROKE Somewhere Around 2013?

A few weeks ago, as I was getting ready to meet up with Bishop to check in, a woman approached me and asked if I'd help her in her Relief Society lesson a few weeks out.
"I need someone to read their scriptures every day right when they get up -before they do anything else -and journal their thoughts."
I took the challenge.
I've been reading a chapter each morning on my Gospel Library App and I felt like writing my thoughts would really challenge me.

Forgive me for being IRRITATINGLY OBVIOUS, but THIS HAS BEEN A CHALLENGE.  Actually doing it isn't hard, but trying to have thoughts worth writing right as I wake up?
Forgeddabboudit.

Some mornings I wrote deep things like, "I think I'm doing this wrong."
Some mornings I wrote honest things like, "Checked facebook first out of habit."
Some mornings I had insights like, "I AM THE LOST SHEEP, not one of the ninety and nine."
And one morning, I learned what I already knew:

The Lord had been simply sending me a message the only way He knows to get through: repetition.
I read in Luke 20 verse 18:

"Whosoever shall fall upon that stone shall be broken..."

Verse 17 references stone to ROCK.

What does this mean to me?  That when I fall on the Lord, I am broken.

God has let me know that I'm doing His will.
There is beauty in the breaking and the broken.

While my heart aches and my soul longs for trust and safety in my broken marriage and heart, the Lord has shown me truth.
Letting go of control and turning it over to God IS NOT easy, but IT IS what I want to do. 

I know now that because my entire world is broken, I AM FALLING ON GOD.

Peace has come, all is well -because all is broken.

Trauma is For OTHER People

The first time someone suggested that I'd been traumatized by my husband's addiction, I scoffed inside.  Look, I know this whole thing is super duper hard and confusing... but trauma?  It made me feel like some sort of feeble, crying, cowering, hurting woman.

Which I actually was.
But I didn't like *thinking* of myself in that light.

As I continued in my recovery, more trauma education rolled in, and I hated how much it resonated with what was going on in my life (or had gone on in the past).  And after a few months, I accepted it.

Hi, my name is Alicia and I'm a trauma survivor (sounds so much better than trauma victim, yes?).

A few days ago, I was watching a few videos online with my husband.  He had been up late the night before watching some innocent and clean music videos (The reality show sort where people with raw talent audition).  We watch them together a lot.
I held my crochet hook in my hand and focused on my stitches as my husband flipped through videos, "Watch this one, listen to this... honey, you gotta see this part."
The singers were beautiful women.  Talented women.  My heart began picking up pace.  My stitching became faster... as a young blonde with flawless skin took the stage, I couldn't take it anymore.
"I can't watch her anymore," I blurted out, "I just keep thinking how in the past you've ________________."
"Okay," my husband said and switched to a different video, "I promise there wasn't any lusting on my side, I just like the music."
But it was too late.  The reaction had hit.  Pretty soon, I couldn't see my stitches through my hot tears.  I set my project down and relocated to my bathroom.
I locked the door and took my place in the middle of the floor and let it come out.  I sobbed.  Really hard.
I prayed.  Really hard.
I could hear my sponsor's voice echoing in my head, "Alicia, your peace has been taken.  What can you do to get it back?"

I called my sponsor and left a voice mail.  I texted.
And then I did what any grown up girl would do and I hid under my covers.
*knock knock* "Honey, are you okay?"
"I want to be alone!"
"Is there anything you need that I can do?"
"No, just need to be alone."

And after I'd recovered somewhat, I let him in his own bedroom and began all over again... the tears, the shaking shoulders.  And through it all I just kept saying, "What the HECK?!  Why am I having such an intense reaction?"
"Because you've been dealing with trauma, and you have some pretty fresh wounds right now," my husband said.

There's that word again.  TRAUMA.
And now I fully embrace it because -friend -what happened the other day was crazy ridiculous.  To end up sobbing uncontrollably on my bathroom floor because a pretty girl with blond hair can sing nicely doesn't make any sense... unless there's underlying trauma that is triggered by pretty girls on screens, doin' what they do.
My fear of rejection that is still in full-bloom was triggered BIG time by something seemingly small.

And just like that, my peace was obliterated.

As I sat in Sunday School yesterday and gave myself my own sermon instead of listening (it happens, okay?), I found a scripture that hit home with me pretty hard:

Exodus 14:14, word for word:

And in one swift scripture, the One who I had always viewed as serene and calm became a solid, beefed up SOLDIER.

My Lord is FIGHTING FOR MY PEACE.
The Prince of Peace holds peace in so high a regard that He will FIGHT for it.

I think of King Benjamin on the front lines, fighting for peace.  I think of Abe Lincoln, fighting to preserve a Union.  These stalwart men each hold a small piece of the Lord -a peacemaking warrior.

The Savior is the ultimate definition of a man, and I can lean into Him, fall into His arms, knowing that while I'm in the midst of an intense trigger, He can comfort me with one hand and fight for me with the other.  My sacred reverence for God has taken on a new realm of admiration... I find myself admiring God as I do Teancum (have you READ about that guy?!) and it brings me an immense feeling of safety.

Safety is what I need most when I'm triggered.

Fight for me, God.  Fight for me.

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.

Good Neighbors

I have a wise neighbor.
She's Native American which increases her wisdom by approximately 67%.  She's a retired judge, and she used to run a farm full time... horses, cows, you name it. 
She's learned a lot in her lifetime.

Her family has been connected with mine for years, the bond between us increasing as her mother nursed my mother after The Accident.  She's watched me grow, and now she's watching my children grow.

This morning, I fidgeted with her grape vines while the barn cats bounded around the muddy rain puddles at my feet.  She sat on her side of the fence, weeding her garden.

"Yesterday was a bad day," she said, rolling the earth's clay from her fingers, "But I woke up and looked outside.  It was raining a little bit, and we need the rain.  I went for a walk with my dogs.  I just enjoyed the gift of the day.  There's yesterday's dishes to do and laundry in the house, but I'm not going to let yesterday ruin today.  God doesn't make mistakes with days."

She was living in the moment, breathing in the desert rain.
"Learning more about God in nature than in church," as she puts it. 
"You have to live for the present or you'll end up missing everything."  Everything except regret, I guess.

My husband sat on the edge of our bed last night and told me of some "attack" thoughts he'd been battling.   He's 5 months porn-sober.  No one knows that better than Satan.  And when he's got a good stretch of porn-soberness under his belt, Satan tries to thwart his progress over lust with blatant attacks from unexpected and awful angles.
"I just have to focus," he said, "on what's in front of me now.  When those thoughts come in, I have to work at being present."

God doesn't make mistakes with days.
Mankind makes mistakes, but God's will can not be thwarted.  He doesn't make mistakes.
Not with me.
Not with my husband.
Not with days.

And today, just for today, I won't let Yesterday ruin Today.

The Truth

via chadgracia.com

Benjamin Franklin devoted his life to searching out truth.  As a youth, he devoured literature, spending what little money he had on books.
I wonder what he'd do with the Internet at his fingertips?  I don't imagine he'd ever leave his house!

Ours is The Age of Information!  His?  The Age of Common Sense (not officially, I just made that up.  But it feels official, doesn't it?).  Instead of feeling like I don't have to work as hard to find truth, I feel exactly the opposite.

Information does not equal truth.
Ben Franklin didn't have enough information.  I have entirely too much.

Alicia is devoting her life to searching out truth as rigorously as did Uncle Ben (not to brag, but we are distantly related through a sister) (okay, I'm totally bragging).

Ben Franklin had to man handle truth out of the world.  Like the farmer in the desert, he had to pull truth from the earth with sweat and muscle.

Alicia has to weed truth out of the world.  Like a sleek scientist in the lab, I have to dissect truth from sources with patience and prayer.

In coming to Know Myself(!) I've come to know that chaos does not become me.  While facebook is buzzing with articles about Mothers on iPhones and articles defending Mothers on iPhones, articles about modesty, articles about modesty from another angle, and something about wearing pants to church...

I'm shutting my laptop.  I don't care if people wear pants to church.  I don't care if moms are on iphones or  playground swings or couches or drugs. I have no control over those situations. The articles were swarming with "shares" and "likes" and "comments."  And the Spirit would softly prompt, "This is not for you."
And I would walk away.  I never read any of those articles, but the modesty articles about swimwear peaked my interest for obvious reasons.  I started to read, I started to study.  I donned my lab coat and worked overtime, dissecting, searching, combing, thinking...
And the more comments I read, the more crazy I started to feel.  The tornado of information and opinions began to swirl around me, the velocity of it's pulling force was more than I could handle.
I was overcome with that age old feeling of "out of control." 

I recognize it so well.  In the past, I welcomed it, accepted the thought tornado as truth and reveled in the storm, however fleeting.
Now I calm the crazy, step away from the situation, halt behaviors, and pray.
Still the nagging question hung on in the back of my mind, "What was the truth?  Was Jessica Rey right?  Were the other sites right?  Where was the truth?"
In prayer, I found My Truth, My Answer.

Fear and Love.

I knew it was right because it was so simple and profound.  It wasn't covered in words, draped in flowery language or examples or backed up scientific data.  What's more: it's my truth not only for modesty, but for life eternal.
The truth I have found has changed my perspective and my life.  I can feel it changing my heart as well.
The truth is simply:

Anything done out of love is right.  Anything done out of fear is not.

If I dress modestly because I'm afraid of what others will think of me -whether because I'm afraid people will lust or the Matronly Mother of the ward will reject me if I don't... then it isn't right.

If I dress modestly because I love myself, because I love others, and because the Lord loves me and I love Him... it IS right.
The same is true of immodesty.  If I dress immodestly because I fear rejection from men, it isn't right... and so on.

This broad truth spans every facet of my life.  I find myself questioning my choices, which I've come to know have primarily been fear-based.

Am I cleaning the house because I'm afraid of my husband's temper?
Am I having sex because I'm afraid of his bad mood?
Am I serving because I'm afraid people will think I'm selfish if I don't?
Am I working out because I'm afraid of not being enough?

Or

Am I cleaning the house because I love the feeling of peace that stems from order?
Am I having sex because I love my husband intimately?
Am I serving because I love the Lord?
Am I taking care of my body because I love it?

Truth, for me, can be boiled and dissected down to the absolute core.  Once the opinions, words, and information have been pulled away, the truth reveals itself and peace ensues.
Truth is always simple.
Truth is always plain.
Truth is always constant.

Truth for Benjamin Franklin was love, courage, faith...
and so it is for Alicia.
It's a mortal experience to uncover it, from Adam on down to Alicia.

And I'm not surprised in the least that this truth, along with all other truths, takes it root from Love and spits out Fear.
If I could leave one truth to my children, that would be it.

Are you acting out of Fear? or Are you acting out of Love?

Peace

Sitting on a borrowed yoga mat, preparing to leave Camp Scabs, my eyes were closed as I listened to Yoga Amber.
She was telling us to think of a word.
"It could be love, it could be joy..." she prompted.

Because I am a devout lover of words, I quieted my mind and let the word find ME.

Peace.

Peace, I leave with you.  Peace I give unto you.
Prince of Peace.
Peace on Earth.

Since returning home, I've been on a journey to find peace.  My home is not a peaceful place.  Growing up, my home was never a peaceful place. 

I want to be delivered.  I want to escape. 
But I also want this marriage, this home, this Man. 

What if I'm the only one in my house concerned about peace?  How does that work?
I read 2 Peter Chapters 1 and 2 last night.  Chapter 1 was interesting.  Chapter 2 wanted to rip my heart out.  I physically ACHE for my husband.  When I look into his eyes and and see how heavy his soul is, when I listen to him talk, when I see tears form in the eyes of this wonderful Man, I ache. 
Reading Chapter 2, I cried.  I felt fear -I know this addiction could sever me from him for eternity, and I don't want that.  I love him.  I LOVE him.

I read verse 18:
 18 For when they ^aspeak great swelling words of ^bvanity, they ^callure through the ^dlusts of the flesh, through much wantonness, those that were clean ^eescaped from them who live in error.
 
"Those that were clean ESCAPED from them who live in error."
What does that mean?  Divorce?
No.  It means "boundaries." 

Boundaries are My Great Escape.  They are my deliverance.
Boundaries keep me from being a fix, an object, and trapped.  They give me the self-respect to walk away when I am on the receiving end of bottled up negative emotions my husband doesn't know how to handle. 

The Lord delivered Noah, Lot and Moses.  He led up Lehi out of Jerusalem. We know the women were given the choice of deliverance as well.

Why not, then, for me?
The Lord will provide a means, a choice, an escaped marriage.
The Lord's way is peace.