Sex as Love

Sex is the most important sign of love.

I've believed that line for ages -long before I ever met and married Danny.

Yesterday, I met up for a few blissful hours with one of my college buddies.  It seems kind of inaccurate to describe her that way since -while we were music majors together and spent hours upon hours upon HOURS together through those years -we didn't spend much time together outside of classes.

I thought she had it together... when it came to studying intervals in music theory, they made sense to her.  Me?  I took my workbook home and cried over each interval, wishing I were her.
After graduation, we slowly began bonding online: facebook, my family blog, her family blog... and now we keep in close touch and I count her as one of dearests.
(That's a thing, right?)

As we talked yesterday with little children running around our ankles, she told me how she'd viewed me in college.  She said things like "confident" and "cool."
And -because I can be rude without meaning to be -I laughed out loud and confessed that she just didn't know me at all REALLY back then because if she did, she would have known the truth.

The truth being: I was a reject.

As I thought about this last night and this morning, I came to wrap my mind completely around something that's been in the back of my mind for a few months:

Sex is the most important sign of love.

I believed in high school that I wasn't loved unless I had attention from boys.  In college, I felt worthless because I didn't have boys asking me out as much as I'd like.
Really, what would that number look like?  Three dates a week?  Even that wouldn't have been enough.  Nothing would have.

I base (present tense, because I'm still working on this) my worth on my looks, my value as a sexual being rather than a Godly heir.

I tell myself over and over, "I am more than my body."  It's a mantra I chant when I feel the urges of my mortal skin yanking at my soul.
I am more than my body.  This life is about MORE than what my body wants, whether that's food, attention, control, or WHATEVER.

My friend from college had love to offer me -she had a connection to give, acceptance bounding from her!  And while I did hold some value for a relationship such as she would have offered me, I didn't see it as THE MOST important.
So I focused on boys, on my looks, my clothes.  I didn't run deeper than sex.

And then I married a sex addict (*cue circus music*).

I wanted him to show me love which meant I wanted him to sexually accept me which... well, we know how that story ended up.

There are times where I feel acceptance of myself and love myself TRULY for who I am, what I have to offer, and everything I've done.

And then there's times like these: times of lows and downs where I'm so vulnerable that everyday is battle.  Everyday I have to use my dailies and bottom lines to remind myself that

I am more than my body.

I am a Child of God.

Sex is NOT the most important sign of love.

Sex is NOT the most important sign of love.

Love really has nothing to do with what my body has to offer.

Love is something far deeper than skin -the most powerful force on earth that causes mothers to lift cars, fathers to jump into freezing water to rescue!  It welds families together, drives individuals to higher planes.  It inspires, lifts, and frees.

And sex?
Sex is one small outlet of love -a pretty insignificant one in the big picture of things.

The more I learn about love, the more I let go of sex as the most important form of love...
It's taking years of learning, years of pain, years of trial and error, but learning about love has proven to be the most rewarding journey of my 28 years.

Sex has only served as a saboteur of my journey.  It has it's place in love, YES.  But not until I understand that love is looking into the eyes of a fellow traveler -no matter their sex -and feeling a sexless connection. 
When I can experience true acceptance of self, true acceptance from true friends and family, then I can see clearly the distinction between love and sex.

Sexuality is a cheap, mocking form of connection.

And THAT is what I wish I understood.  That said: I'm not going to complain about the journey it's taking me on.  The truth I'm learning is priceless.

And instead of trying to morph my way into a world where I'm regarded as having value because I'm sexually acceptable, I will find my worth in my God.
His is a love that is drinkable, that when taken in fills you... and I begin to feel that love for not only myself, but for others.
To connect with God is to connect with others and to feel and give and revel in LOVE.

It's no coincidence that sex isn't even in the picture.

Running With Empty

I've had a lot of empty sex.

It's the worst. 
It takes on so many forms and tries to fool you into thinking vapid things matter.  But they don't.  And when all is said and done, the unholy emptiness of it all consumes you.
It's the worst.  Did I already say that?  Well it is.

As a kid, I was fascinated with media sex.  It was so hard to fast forward through the *bad* parts.  I was so curious and eager to know more.  There was mystery to it all.

Today?  I can't stand sex scenes, sultry scenes, or scenes that imply sultriness or sexiness.  And it isn't because my husband is addicted to porn.  It's because of Empty Sex.  Media sex IS empty sex.  Porn is empty sex.  Empty Sex reminds me that I've had so much of it, even the smallest dose is lethal to my sanity.

Empty Sex.
It's all black and empty and there's something sickening about the way it cannibalizes on itself.
It makes me feel worthless and hungry. 

My appetite for true love has been pushed past starvation.  It's blinking back at me with a bloated belly and sad eyes and saying, "For only three cents a day, you can save this poor starved inner child."
Somewhere between my childlike curiosity and my husband's addiction, I fed the wrong appetite.  I fed the lust and starved the love and in the end all I got was Empty.

"More sex," the books say, "If your marriage is feeling off, have more sex."
"It's your duty as the wife."
"LDS people are just too frigid.  More sex is the answer!"

More sex!
More sex!
More!
More!

Sex isn't the answer to anything.  At. All.

It isn't a need.  It isn't a cure.  It isn't the be-all-end-all.

And I'm angry because I don't even know what sex actually, really is.  To me, it's always been the answer to his bad day.  It's always been my way of desperately seeking connection.  It's always been an answer to something.
It was never the right answer, as I can tell you from bitter experience.  Instead of learning the hard way the first time, I thought somehow -someway -I could change the results by adding more.
More sex.

All I have to show is years and years of Empty. God forsaken. Sex.


I have the right to discover what it means to be truly loved for who -and not what -I am or am able to do or offer.
I have the right to uncover the truth about intimacy, about sex and lust and how trust somehow fits into it all so seamlessly.

I have the right to walk out of the Hell that fear and shame have created for me.


I have the right to leave Emptiness in Hell.

 

This Weekend

 

via flickriver.com

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

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

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

Adjusting

 

via ebay.com

There are so many adjustments going on right now.

Adjusting to busy life with a new baby, adjusting to a life where my husband is making real efforts toward recovery, adjusting to a relationship that isn't focused on or centered around sex...

I've never been very good at change. 

The easiest adjustment to make is the baby -it seems more natural.  I've had more practice with babies.  The biggest adjustment in the baby department is getting used to real life with her.  The first two months were slow and easy -after that, real life kicked back in: piano lessons, Primary, Visiting Teaching. Suddenly, the "you JUST had a baby" line doesn't apply anymore.  Now I'm scrambling to figure it all out, but I'm getting there.  It's a fluctuating New Normal that changes with each baby stage, each visiting teaching change, each meeting change... but it makes weird, natural sense.  Babies have a natural way about them.

Saturday morning, I was bustling around my house, prepping it for out of town family.  I was short with my kids, snippy toward my husband...
Saturday was at the end of a week of disclosures, and while I could handle the disclosures on their own, I was struggling to handle the disclosures+hosting family+cooking a luncheon for 60 people.  I sensed my stress level creeping toward the boiling point.  I heard a knock on the door -it was my Dad.  He asked if he could take my kids. Tender mercy!  I sent them with Dad, I put the baby in the swing where she screamed her brand new lungs out, and I knelt down to pray.  I put all my stress into one prayer.
"I could do this without the pressures of hosting, I could.  But I'm so overwhelmed..." Through all the disclosures during the week, I had never shed one tear, never felt the need to. 
"Go feed the baby," came the answer from my Father in Heaven.  Apparently, He heard her screaming...
"Okay?" I said.  I didn't get it, but whatever.
I sat down on my couch and fed my baby, instantly quieting her.  The rest of my house was quiet -my husband was in the shower. I looked out the window and saw a day that ached to be Spring.  I took a deep breath.
"Get a blessing."
Ah... it was "the rest of the story" answer to my prayer.  My husband administered a wonderful blessing, and I burst into tears.  The tears flowed for the next few minutes, and then I was fine. 

I don't understand how to DO this new life, which -actually -is also constant only in it's fluctuation. 
Do I trust his recovery efforts?  No.
I appreciate them.
I've let go of his addiction and have been able to focus on other aspects of my life.  But now that he's taken more of his addiction on, I feel even more... free.  But it's a weird sort of freedom.  I feel like a just-broke filly who has been given more reign.  I'd almost prefer being held back a little because that's what I'm USED to.
Adjustment has never been my strong point.  And then there's the part of me (or maybe the adversary?) that keeps hounding on the disclosures...
You have every right to be hurt.
You have every right to be upset.
You have every right to escape...

But I don't feel the urge to do or feel any of those things.  At all.  And so I'm kind of like, "Well what DO I do then?  Live?"
Yes, live.  And I've got to figure out really HOW to do it.  Adjust to it.
I get the sudden urge to do empowering things: build a table, take apart an engine...
And just when I'm about to dive head-first into an all-consuming pile of pine and nails, my baby cries and I remember, "Oh yeah.  I CAN'T right now..."
Adjustment.

And then there's the sex.
Even before his latest disclosures -before he knew he would be disclosing -my husband took sex off the table.  If he hadn't, I would have by now.  I added a new "don't see me in the buff" boundary after the lastest disclosures, and I feel good about it.
And yet.
I find myself scrambling.  I'm in the tub stressing about whether or not to shave my legs... I start counting days.
"It's been x-amount of days since we last..." and then I remember.
Oh, it doesn't matter.  We're not doing that right now.
And relief stomps on the stress and my leg hair runs wild. 
I get out of the tub and instantly start stressing over perfume, lotion... I used to always choose his favorite so he would desire me the MOST.  And then I remember.
Oh, it doesn't matter... and I put on whatever I feel like.
I start to realize JUST how sex-centered our relationship is: at least on my end.  The wolf whistling stops, the butt grabbing stops, the puns and innuendos sort of stop (since apparently my mind will forever be gliding somewhere near the gutter)...
The air in our house feels clean and fresh.  Is it because Springtime is around the corner? or is it because there's a new feeling in our home? 
My husband left for an overnight trip this morning, and I felt something off... and then I realized we hadn't had The Sex.  You know the kind... The Sex You Have Before They Leave For Training So They Won't "Need" Anything Else.
I was stressing out this morning because something felt off, and when I realized what it was I started to relax.
Oh, it doesn't matter...

Adjustments, adjustments, adjustments.

I really stink at this kind of stuff... what I really ought to do today is service.  Get the heck outta my house!  But aside from everything else, my body is making some pretty painful adjustments from the whole baby thing, and I'll be doing bloody amazing to just get out of my PJs and the trash taken out before my piano lessons come for the day.
Because I haven't been feeling well, I'm fighting feelings of failure for tasks unaccomplished and attention ungiven.

I know from experience there's always a pot of gold at the end of the rainbow of adjustment... because I've got three rainbows going right now I'm looking forward to some pretty fat rewards.
But for today?  I'm going to take it slow, take a bath (hairy legs will be involved), take a walk, and do my best to NOT serve Texas Sheet Cake for dinner (Dad won't be here so nutrition is kind of optional).

But Not For Me

  

via saturdayeveningpost.com

I recently confessed to my older brother that I procrastinate on purpose because my best work comes from last minute hustle.  This principle doesn't apply like a Blanket to my entire life... just certain aspects of it.
In high school, I wrote research papers the day before they were due. I would study and research and mentally prep and then WRITE my buns off.
And I always got full marks.
I had a really patient English teacher who would let me turn in crappy outlines and note cards because she knew I always wrote my paper last minute the day before and THEN wrote the outlines and note cards based on the paper -not the other way around.

I was a member of our High School's Academic Decathlon.  We were such a small school that our team was by far the smallest in the region and none of us took it seriously (to our discredit).  In Academic Decathlon, we're required to give prepared speeches in competitions.
I never once prepared a speech.
Ever.
I did, however, walk in and GIVE speeches.  I took home a 3rd place Speech medal once and felt pretty awful about it.  There was about 300 other kids that had actually PREPARED and PRACTICED a speech, and I was careless and silly about the whole thing.  I didn't deserve that medal.

Confessing to my brother felt good. 
"I once forgot about a science project," my brother told me after I confessed to him, "I put something together the night before and got the highest grade in the class."
We bonded that day.  We shared a moment, and he went on to confess that he's been "blessed" with procrastination as well, and he had fairly fat package of supporting examples.
"What do we do?" I asked, "Fight it?  FORCE ourselves to believe that procrastination is BAD?"
And we finally came to an agreements.
The phrase "When we fail to plan, we plan to fail," is great.  It's great.  But it's not for me -not always.  Even today, some of my best Sharing Times come to me Sunday morning (which is SUPER convenient with three little kiddos to feed and bathe and dress for church).  Sometimes I will plan.  And last minute: something better comes to my mind and I toss my plans out and go with my last-minute ideas.

Living with addiction (both my own and my husband's) has taught me that there's SO many great tools and resources and books out there... but they're not all for me.  Not right now.  Not with the dynamic I'm living with.

But I didn't know that 8 years ago!  I didn't!
I thought the sex books WERE for me!  Surely, if I got sex "right" porn would cease to be a part of our relationship!
I thought Dr. Laura WAS for me!  Surely, her advice about taking perfect care of my adoration-starved dragon slayer would "help"!
I thought more sex!  better sex!  sex!  sex!  sex!  and DATES!  dates with sex!  Fun, creative, dates that ended with sex!
I thought dating blogs were for me!
Dating advice!  Spice up your marriage blogs!

I've taken a leap back.  I big leap.  A Texas-sized leap.
Those resources are great.  Those are great for other people.

But a woman who has become addicted to her husband's porn addiction?  Is MORE SEX really the answer to her broken brain?  Not for me.

I'm finding this applies to me in so many ways.  I need to be able keep my mind open and aware -I need to be able to feel my gut speak to me, so when I come across a lesson, a tool, a resource I will be able to FEEL and KNOW if it's for me.
The Lord will let me know.  I just have to ask and listen and follow.

Years ago, I was invited to a Girl's Night Out.  Based on the invitation, it looked like a consultant in a multi-level company was going to be there... selling sex stuff.  The invite didn't go into details, but it left a website.
I thought maybe I'd go!  I got the invite from an LDS woman I knew -a good Christian woman.  Surely the party would be tasteful and it would give me the opportunity to improve my sex life.  I was ALL for that because it meant I'd be able to fully indulge in my addiction: helping my husband overcome his sexual addiction through more sex with me!
I logged on the website just to make sure I wasn't getting into anything too grody.
And I'm glad I did.  The minute the main page flashed on my screen, my gut screamed at me.
"NO.  Get outta here."
So I did.  I felt weird declining the invite.  I followed my gut, but my head was standing by going, "Why aren't you going?  It will help everything in your marriage get better!  LDS people just don't have enough sex.  It's nothing we have to be ashamed of.  It's normal.  Other LDS people will be there improving their marriages..."

Oh, the lies.

Those parties are not for me.
Sex has been scrambled in my brain.  I don't understand it.
I over think it.  I don't want it.  I do want it.  I'm nervous.  I'm anxious.  My belly has jelly.  Are my legs shaved?  What's he thinking?  Am I a fix?  Is there a new episode of Hart of Dixie on tonight?  If I was paralyzed and couldn't have sex would he love me?  Would he stay?  Did I remember to buy "Hold on Little Tomato" on iTunes?  I need to have sex with my husband.  This is necessary.  He's worked hard today.  He deserves sex.  I need to perform.  I love him and this is how he understands love.  But can sex addicts HAVE sex as a need?  That doesn't make sense.  Does it make sense?  Is it my job to separate his addiction from our bedroom?  He does.  I can't.  I won't.  My gut tells me I shouldn't have to separate.  I won't.  I can do this.  If I feel safe, I will.  If I don't, I won't.
Stop thinking.
Stop THINKING.
What time is it?

And THAT, people, is the effects of medicating codependecy with sexudcation.

Sexudcation is for healthy couples.  It is not for me.

Prayer is for me.  Turning things over to the Lord is for me.
Honest sex -sex that doesn't violate my gut -that is for me.
Books on Abraham Lincoln, books of Robert Frost poetry, my Healing Through Christ manual, my scriptures... THOSE books are for me.
The simplicity of the gospel is for me: faith, love, the Atonement -THOSE are for me.
And uplifting music?  That's for me too.

I'll get through this sex tornado in my brain.  I will.  Okay, I won't.  But I'll hand it to the Lord and he'll get rid of it.  I don't know how to hand it over.  Not yet.
I'm working on knowing how.
I just have to hold on.

(Don't you dare fast forward through that awesome-sauce clarinet solo...)