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.

What I Need

As I read Harriet's post the other day, I started thinking about my own path... my What I Need For Recovery.

It's different for everyone because WE are different.  I was raised by a mother who had severe brain trauma she was recovering from and a workaholic father... both VERY good people.  Both Salt of the Earth kind of people.
Not everyone had my parents.  In fact, only 5 other people in the entire world do.  Even then, they all handle things differently than I do.  And everyone's ways are okay.  Everyone's path is okay.

My husband's path is okay.
My path is okay.
Even if they don't intersect as much as I'd like or as much as he'd like... they're okay.

My path involves four keys -here they are in no particular order:

1) Education on addiction and trauma. This means I study and read what feels right in my gut.  If I see an article online that addresses addiction, I look at the headline and wait for my gut to tell me if it's for me or not.  I read books.  I feed my brain truth

2) Spiritual Healing -I meet with my Bishop every two weeks and he asks me hard questions like, "Are you reading your scriptures?"  His guidance and inspiration gives me a sense of balance in everything.  Bishop aside, I'm learning to apply the Atonement.  The Atonement has been life-changing for me.

3) Physical Healing -Counseling, Yoga, Detox Baths, Good Music, Essential Oils... you get the picture.

4) Working the 12-Steps with a sponsor.

The 12-steps are vital for me because I DO have issues.  I have a lot of deep-rooted problems stemming from my childhood, my thought processes, belief systems, and my character weaknesses.  I had them before I met Danny.
When I was engaged to Danny, he told me he had a problem with pornography.  There were red-flag behaviors that I dismissed.

Because I believed I could fix it.

I believed I could change him.

I believed I would be enough to completely save him.

I believed I was the Savior, and as such had no need of the Only True Living Savior.

Before any of the trauma really hit me, ALREADY I was fixing him.  Already, I put myself higher than him and his sins.  Already, I was co-dependent and never once really dependent on God.  I relied wholly on my own mind and abilities, controlling absolutely everything I could with Google and my hard-earned country muscles.  My own mind was enough for me.  (Oh, to be 18 again.  What a laugh.)

I had grown up believing I was a bother to God -and anyway, I could deal with my little problems myself.  They were mine, and it was irresponsible to ask anyone else (including God) to handle them.

Proud, tough, strong... so young.

The 12-steps gradually opened an entirely new world for me -one that teaches me that I'm mortal and in need of an atoning sacrifice, in which I can find

Humility, Compassion, and Meekness...

When I surrender my tough mortal mind and heart to God, he hands me strength beyond anything earthly.  It's HIS strength.

So yes, I'm codependent.
And yes, I have issues that need addressing through therapy and 12-step work.
Yes, I've been traumatized.
Yes, I'm physically ill as well.

And no.  I will not give up the fight, no matter how much it burns, no matter the consequences that come from facing this Self in the mirror, no matter the voices of fear and doubt and despair.

I have my God.
I have my support.
I have what it takes.

I don't know what anyone else needs, but I know what I need.  I know my own faulty belief system and patterns.

I'm even beginning to know myself, which is the greatest blessing above all... there is true beauty not in spite of my flaws, but IN them. 

Clingy

I was sure I could love him enough.
Fill the void.
BE ENOUGH.

I clobbered him with affection, baskets full of sap... I tried losing weight, spicing it up, baking, cleaning.
It wasn't enough.  I wasn't enough.

So I pushed harder, farther, NEVER CONTENT with not being enough.  I had always been enough.  Something like PORN wasn't about to best me. 
I set aside myself.  The only thing that mattered was being enough, being available at all times. 
If porn made him happy, I would be porn.  I would be sexy, available AT ALL TIMES, exciting, new, fresh...

Just typing that truth out makes me hurt.  Did I really DO that?  Yes.  Yes, I did do that.

I would follow him around the house. Available. I wouldn't wear it if he didn't like it, wouldn't bake it if he didn't approve.  I was the first to reach over in the morning and hold his hand... always saying "I love you."  I said it so much, so frequently, it seemed overused and therefore not as sincerely reciprocated (probably because he didn't know how to love back?).
Could he SEE how much I loved him?
Could he FEEL it?
His actions didn't warrant the response I desired, so what did I do?

I pushed harder, farther...
But resentment began to creep in.  I resented him.  I shoved it down. 
Then rejection, dejection, depression, self-loathing began to creep in. 

This weekend, I initiated some kissing.  THAT'S IT.  KISSING.  I reached out for his hand first thing in the morning.

That's all it took to dredge up all of those awful, moldy, rotten old emotions.

I recoiled.  The wave of emotions ran through and through and through me.  Stupid triggers.  STUPID trauma.  STUPID.

I started thinking about detaching.  Detaching is hard.  So many times, I've forced detaching.  I've pulled away even when all I wanted to do was check his phone.  I've left the room, even when all I wanted to do was stay and manipulate information out of him.

As the old emotions of rejection and depression coursed through my soul, I realized something:

Detaching isn't hard.  Detachment is simply the natural consequence of emotional health.  If I turn to my talents and interests (to Heavenly Father)... if I have personal goals and dreams... if I focus on my health and self-improvement, I WILL BE detached.

It won't be forced or complicated or over-thought.
It will just... BE.
And I will soar.

What more?  I WILL BE ENOUGH, and I will see that there never, ever, EVER was a time that I wasn't.
EVER.

EV.
ER.

Fixings

A few nights ago, my husband told me that he really wants to get to know me, to see who I truly am.  In the same conversation, he told me some things that didn't sit well with me.

I went to bed a few minutes later conflicted.
I began devising analogies to get him to see things my way.  The tightness in my chest turned to hardness.  I prayed, I prayed, I prayed.
I fell asleep.

The next morning, I went for a walk.  The air was fresh, the sky overcast.  I took deep breaths in, trying to breath the tight, hard feeling out of my chest. 
"Inhale light," I told myself, "Exhale stress..."
I prayed.  I prayed.  I prayed.  Praying is the point of my morning brambles, actually.  It's quieter outside than it is my house.

"What can I do so he will see me?  Should we read my old journals together?  How can we get to know each other?  What activities would be best?"
No answers came.  Even if they did, I would not have heard them because I was too busy stewing over how to get my husband to see things my way.
The tightness increased and spread to my shoulders.  I recognized it, took a deeeeeep breath and focused on being more present.

A yellow butterfly, a green pasture, birds...

"Alicia," came the thought to my tight chest, "You don't have to fix this."
 The stress immediately melted, and I pleaded with Heavenly Father to forgive my pride and TAKE it away. 

Heavenly Father will help my husband *see* me better than I can.
Heavenly Father will help my husband learn what he needs to learn better than I can -because I admittedly have NO REAL CLUE what my husband needs.

Once again, I find myself in need of letting go and letting God.

My husband is seeking the Lord and the Lord is reaching out and guiding my husband.  I'm the meddling maiden aunt.
F'real.

Why is it so hard to GET OUT OF THE WAY?  I have no business telling my husband what he needs, what he should do... I can only let him know what I am uncomfortable with as it affects ME.

The Lord is working miracles in ME.  So suddenly I know what's best for my husband?  Where is this logic coming from?  Blah.
This is the lesson I will learn over and over and over.

I came in the door from my walk, and my husband sat down and told me some experiences he had where Heavenly Father has helped him to see me, my core, my true self. 
In turn, I confessed to him that I'd spent a few hours trying to think of ways to get him to see life as I see it rather than letting him be where he is. 
"I didn't manipulate or control you," I said, "But I WANTED to."

My pride.  My fears.  My will.
This addiction pulls me in like gravity, like a bug to a flame, holding me without actual contact.

It's crap.

I once told my mother that I knew the words, "You need to OBEY" will be written on my tombstone.  I say them to my daughter at least 40 times a day.
I can't help but think Heavenly Father feels the same way.
"You don't have to fix this."
"You don't have to fix this."
"You don't have to fix this."

I love His semantics.  He leaves the choice open to TRY and fix if I'd like to, but I know by past personal experience how that ends.  It involves insanity, tears, chocolate, Adele, and general devastation.

Alicia, you don't have to fix this.
(He didn't say that "this" includes myself, but it does.  I know it does.  And I will suffer until I learn.  It's my MO, people.)

Overnighter

 

My husband just got home from an overnight work thing-y.

I enjoyed him being gone... not in the "good, he's GONE" kind of way, but in the "yay! less dishes!" kind of way.

I visited with my sisters-in-law and listened as they expounded on their inability to sleep if their husbands are gone, and then I went home at 10:15 pm and slept soundly... alone in my bed.

Years ago, it was a different story entirely.  When my husband worked graveyards, I was a mess.  I would call him constantly.

"Would you drive by and spotlight the house?"

"I think I heard something..."

"Where are you?"

I tried not to hassle him, so I would spend a lot of time tossing and turning with a pit of fear in my stomach.

All that time alone, at night, alone, with his smart phone...

Toss, turn, toss, turn.

Now I enjoy being alone, having the kids to myself, eating easy stuff for dinner, leaving messes out for longer, and watching whatever I want without having to compromise. 

Progress, right?  It felt like progress right up until the point when he came home and I felt like I was just waiting for the bomb to drop.
"I had a hard time."
"It was a rough night."

Nothing.  He said nothing about it.  I couldn't shake it.
Was he going to confess?  Was it in my future?  Was he too scared?  Should I just ask?
"No," my gut said, "Let it the heck go."
All day I shook it off, and we fell asleep next to each other in a half-stupor (kids make us tired).

This morning I finally said, "This is weird.  Okay?  This is just weird.  I feel like I'm waiting for you to come and disclose something after having stayed overnight somewhere."
"I've stayed places without problems before," he said.
"I know that... it's just... this is like a weird adjustment for me."
"Nothing happened," he chuckled.

Nothing happened.
It's true.  He's not lying.  And instead of me patting him on the back and giving him thumbs up, I'm standing off to the side and scratching my head.

This is weird.
What do I do with this reality?

 

All The Single Ladies

  

via tumblr.com

So he's gone.

Just now.  We hugged and kissed and I held my tears in until he drove off and wiped all traces of them away before facing the kids.  Like a champ.

The hydraulic gauge on the screen broke.
My daughter's bike tire went flat.
The same daughter is running a temp and has a fever.
Got an early morning call from the Dr. who let me know I have some baby-related leftovers still running amok in my baby-growing parts.
My husband took our family car because our other "car" isn't fit for driving on highways...

"And that's just today!" said the mother, with all the brightness sarcasm could muster.

Alright, so I'm not exactly moving forward with a perfect brightness of hope.  Because really?  It sorta sucks.  He has left for a week at a time before, but it's always been because of work.  Now he's taken time off work and left for a week because of THIS.  And I hates it.  We hates it.  I think even our kittens are uncomfortable with the whole situation.

My emotions are 100% on the surface.  I cried a lot during conference (good cries).  I cried a total of three times when I watched Les Miserables.  I had some sort of weird run-in with what can only be described as trauma (apparently I have some trauma leftovers in my pornography-recovery-brain parts).

It all started when my husband took me gently in his arms and gently, softly, tenderly kissed my forehead.  I burst into tears and cried so hard I couldn't talk.
Not like me.  And also: what the heck?

I also cried the next morning.

My codependency has been flaring up something fierce... and I need to be physically removed from my husband right now.

The kids think it's going to be one big, fat sleepover in the living room.  And they're right.

I'm also secretly grateful that my oldest is running a fever.  I want her home today.  I want us all together.

And so I'm logging off.  This is me tipping my hat to ya and yours.  
I'll be spending this week with my kids, with myself, with the Lord and with Step 6.

and a windstorm.  I hope he drives safe.  What if he doesn't?  What if he wrecks?  What if he DIES?  What if I have to spend the rest of my life with a broken screen and flat bike tires and the GUILT that will come knowing it was ME who sent him away -out into the windstorm and his untimely death?!?!?!

*inhale*

Say it with me:
Even if this happens, I know I will be all right because the Lord will always stand by me and sustain me.

*exhale*

See you on the other side of uncertainty.

If I Didn't Have You

  

via blogs.babble.com

Working the steps daily has been a game-changer for me.  I'm seeing more progress in the past few weeks than I have in a long time.

I've been dealing with a porn addiction in my marriage for 8 years now. 

It wasn't until 2 years ago that I realized I was co-dependent, and I thought I was co-dependent BECAUSE of my husband's addiction, and I resented him for it for a long time.

But as I reached my Step 4 and began writing an inventory, past experiences began to resurface at random times: just as I was getting into bed one night, I suddenly remembered something I hadn't thought about for YEARS.
When I was in grade school (second grade?  third grade?) I ate lunch with a girl named Amber.  One day we sat next to another girl, Mandy.  Mandy had a Little Debbie Fudge Round.  It looked so good -much better than whatever dessert my mom had packed for me. 
Mandy got up to go to the bathroom.
"Take it," Amber had said.
I didn't want to.  I mean, I wanted the dessert, but I knew it wasn't mine to eat.
"Take it, just take it," Amber said.
So I did.
We split it and ate it really fast before Mandy could get back... and it was the by far the WORST tasting dessert I've ever had.  I munched on a combination of guilt and chocolate.
Mandy asked us what had happened to her dessert, and we shrugged.
"I dunno..."

I never told her the truth.
I never stole anything after that.

The thing is: I care more about what other people think of me than I do what GOD thinks of me.  I FEAR others more.

I let go of my Step 4 inventory for a long time.  As I did, things would come to me every once in a while, and now that it's time for me to start Step 4 again, I feel a little more prepared.  I feel like I have more direction.

And I realize something monumental: I NEED RECOVERY from my co-dependency... not because my husband has a porn/sex/lust addiction but because I have issues -I've had them for most of my life!

In high school, I only dated guys that needed saving in some kind of way.  And you know what they say... you marry you who date.
I once dated a guy who needed a research paper written for him.  I was at the top of my English class and had turned in a 10-page research paper with a fat 100% at the top of the page.  He was a transfer student who turned in a 1-page research paper... a bullet-pointed list of facts and a fat F at the top of the page.
Our English teacher paired us together, and she asked me to please tutor him.  We spent hours together, hours in the library, hours at my house, a few hours at his... and I got to control the situation.  I was able to SAVE him from certain failure.
And you know what?  One afternoon when we were working together, he checked his email and his inbox was stock FULL of porn... not just the spam kind.  He tried to cover the screen.
We ended up dating for one week (Thursday to Thursday), and after I broke up with him he actually came into the mom and pop pizza shop I worked at and asking me to please date him again.
"You can help me," he said, "I need help and you can help me."
Something in my gut SCREAMED to get the heck away -jump ship!  and I listened.
"I need to help myself right now," I said.
He scoffed.  "With what?  You've got it all together."
"I'm applying to colleges.  I'm earning money to pay my own way through school.  I've got a million extra-curricular activities, and I need to focus on ME."
My boss asked him to leave.

Thank goodness I listened to my gut on that one.

I realize now -for the first time ever -that I was bound to marry someone who needed saving, even if I wasn't aware of it.
I have asked the Lord so many times, "Why did you LET me marry an addict?"
I see it now as a tender mercy.

Without my husband's addiction, I would have probably never realized the extent of my co-dependency -I would have never gotten any kind of recovery.
(or maybe I would have in a different way -a more painful way)
I would have spent my entire life fearing others more than God, trying to FIX everyone and everything, trying to CONTROL others and their situations in life.
I would have forever tried to be the wrong kind of perfect.

And I know now... I SEE now that if I would have divorced my husband two years ago when I was tempted to, I would have walked right into another "saving" relationship because I hadn't worked to find any kind of recovery for myself.
In the frame of mind I was in two years ago, my HUSBAND was the one with the problems and he was also THE problem... the problem that needed fixed, controlled, saved.

Now I've dropped the idea.  I've let go of him.  I've got bigger fish to fry.
I'm a friggin' mess.
And so I say to my husband as I did to Ryan in the pizza shop all those years ago, "I need to focus on ME right now."
That way if my husband decides against recovery or he dies (which cops sometimes do, but heaven forbid...) then I will be okay on my own. 

Thank goodness for my husband.  I shudder to think of the many relationships I could have ended up in that could have been far worse.

Thank goodness for addiction.
Thank goodness for recovery.

Thank goodness for the Atonement.
Thank goodness for love.

What Can I Do?

Less than a week ago, I got a book in the mail... a book about Pornography and Sexual Addiction.

****side note: thank goodness things aren't mailed in clear packages... our small town post master would know WAY too much about all of us.****

I couldn't tear into the book right away, but when I could, I TORE.  I dove.  I sat down with my baby and a thick blanket.  In one day, I'd read about half of the book.  The next day was cold and rainy.  My daughter went to school, I put my son in front of cartoon and my baby down for a nap, and I read in bed while the rain fell.
It was pure bliss -seriously.

****side note: it's amazing to me what qualifies as "pure bliss" now.  A few years ago, reading a book about sexual addiction wouldn't exactly put me over the moon.****

The book is titled, "What Can I Do About Him Me?" and the author, Rhyll Anne Croshaw, warns her readers in the beginning that the book could trigger feelings.  And she was right.  I had to close the book a few times because I was overwhelmed with feelings. 
I cried a few times.
I smiled a few times.
I sighed a lot.

I've only ever read one book about pornography/sex addiction before.  It was From Heartache to Healing by Colleen Harrison.  I have recommended that book time and time again.  It was my ladder out of rock bottom.

 

What I wouldn't have given to have this book as well.

It is clear, organized, concise -it gives rightly-placed hope... hope in YOU rather than hope in someone else.
For years, I invested my happiness in my husband's choices.  I hoped he would choose to read his scriptures when I wanted him to.  I hoped he would choose to pray every morning and night as I had felt he should.  I hoped he would quit looking at porn, connect with me emotionally, show empathy, love me the way I wanted to be loved, make me happy...

Rhyll gently, lovingly, honestly, and knowingly takes us by the hand and leads us away from this kind of thinking. 
She doesn't lecture.
She validates.
She doesn't cater to victim-thinking.
She understands.

It's a beautiful ride of a read.

It's the kind of book you buy 5 copies of and give them to the Bishop.  Why?
Because Rhyll has DONE it!  She has successfully breached the grounds of silence -she has broken the bonds of shame.  She has brought us into her kitchen with her and, through one-sided conversation, taught us how to take care of our neglected selves... without us actually having to SEE anyone or LEAVE the house or TALK to anyone.
The fear of talking about the pain going on in my home, life, and soul is just too shameful to admit to anyone... but reading a book sent to me in a covered package?  THAT I can do.

Realizing I couldn't control my husband's painful behavior made me feel powerless.
But reading Rhyll's words reminded me that although I can not control HIM, I can control myself and in so doing will find a different, greater kind of power... the power that comes from Diety.

One of the greatest tools I have taken from the book is a practice Rhyll and her husband took from Brene Brown: Vowel Check-in.
The Vowel Check-in uses all the vowels in a great easy-to-remember and well-covered check-in... I'm finding that it works great as a check-in with my Heavenly Father each night.

A) Was I abstinent today?  (For me, this means did I refrain from indulging in my addiction to try and control -not just my husband but others and situations as well?  Did I remain free from the fear that has controlled me in the past?)
E) Did I exercise today?
I) What did I do for myself today?
O) What did I do for others today?
U) Do I have any unexpressed emotions that need to come out?
Y) What was the "yay" for today?  What good things came my way?

A few nights ago, I found myself walking on eggshells with my husband.  I could tell he was cycling, and it helped me to detach.  We were planning on watching a movie together, and it felt really good to have the strength to say, "I don't want to watch a movie with you like this.  I know we've planned this night for a while, but I'd rather put it off than go through it like this.  You've been emotionally disconnected for a few days, and I was hoping tonight we could reconnect.  I've missed you.  I want to SEE you, but I can't.  You're not here.  Why don't you go do what you need to do to take care of whatever is going on with you right now?  We can watch the movie another time when we can enjoy each other."
He gave a few reasons as to why he was feeling so touchy -which were all true, I'm sure -but none were the ROOT of what he was feeling.
So I pulled the vowels out, and after about an hour and half, we had connected emotionally.  He admitted he'd been having a hard time fighting lust -though he hadn't acted out -and that he hated telling me about it because it made him feel like dirt.

But it's strange.  When he opens up and is honest with me about the details of his day, the little fights he had with lusts (even if he felt like it was a battle lost) are welcome sounds to my ears.  He tells me he noticed another woman, and he waits to see the hurt and pain in my eyes... but all I hear is HONESTY and it's so refreshing and wonderful and revealing that there's no room for hurt.  Not anymore.
I feel like each time he opens up to me, I peel off a piece of his hard covering and get a glimpse into the real, raw, vulnerable HIM and it's breathtaking.
He's an amazing man.

I haven't checked in with him using the vowels since then, but they were a great tool for that moment.  I don't want to force the check in on him every night.  If he'd like to check in, he can.  But I've found myself being more aware of ME as I go throughout my day, knowing that tonight I'll have my Father in Heaven to answer to.

Bottom line: if YOU are hurting, no matter the cause, no matter if you feel it is someone else's problem, no matter what: if YOU hare hurting, YOU need healing.
Rhyll shines a flashlight down the intimidating tunnel of recovery. 

A richer life is waiting...

****side note: I recommend this book to people currently in recovery from sexual addiction as well.  It will give you some great, real insights without shaming.****

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).

Miracles

   

via nal.usda.gov

I'm not okay with others not being okay with me.

I'll go to great lengths to make sure others are okay with me at the expense of my own comfort (I hate this.  I'm working hard on this).  In my marriage, I went to great lengths to make sure my husband was okay with me at the expense of my own peace... which is miles of worse.

I wanted to be different than other couples with problems.
I wanted to be tougher than issues.

I wanted to be okay.

So I said I was.  I guess I figured that maybe if I said it enough, I would begin to feel and believe it as well because what I actually was feeling was NOT okay.
But I hated that I wasn't okay, so I escaped.  I shoved the feelings down so I wouldn't have to truly experience them.  I watched a lot of movies.  I ate a lot of junk.
I spent a lot of time online.

And when he asked me how I was doing, I would say, "I'm okay."
And I would give the same report to the Lord, "I'm okay."

For some reason, I was content to have being OK be my goal -probably because I was so torn up inside that truly being okay seemed like a dream.  I'd forgotten what it felt like to be okay.  Just plain okay.

What was I?
I was hurt.  I was angry.  I was confused.  I was reeling.

With each near-daily confession from my husband, emotions swirled around me in a chaotic panic, begging to be unleashed.
But I was stronger than my emotions.
So I resisted the strong pull to give them any credit or reign... and I said, "I'm okay."

Last night, my husband opened up to me and confessed he realized he'd been acting out on his lust addiction in other ways -as in: ways that don't include porn.
I listened.
When he finished talking, his eyes were full of terror, apprehension, shame... I could hear his thoughts.
'How is she going to take this?'

And I answered out loud, "I'm okay."
We put the kids to bed, he went to bed, and I stayed awake.  I wrote and prayed and searched for pain.
Where is it?  Where is the pain and the anger?  Shouldn't they BE here?
I'm ready to give them reign for a little while.  I'm ready to feel them, handle them, learn from them.  I won't stifle them or pretend I'm stronger than them.
I recognize they aren't facts... I recognize that they are necessary... I recognize that they have a purpose.

I close my eyes and focus on what my husband has said to me.  I breathe in and breath out.  My brain hunts for any shred of emotion.
And finds peace. 

This can't be right.
This can't be normal.
There has to be more to this.

I pray and I pray and I feel only peace and clarity and then my thoughts wander and I think about the baby's upcoming blessing, the laundry waiting to be washed the next morning, the chicken that needs to thaw.
I think about a friend of mine who is going through a miscarriage and  has a white-knuckling porn addicted husband, and I think about how I want to save her.
I think about how I want to save everyone.
I wonder WHY. 
Saving is the Savior's job.  Why would I want such a heavy responsibility?  Why would I be so pompous as to presume that I have saving abilities?
I pray, I write.
I realize and write my fears: I'm afraid of my husband cycling because it brings anger.  I'm afraid of anger.
But I can divorce the anger.  I can leave.  I don't have to be around cycling anger, I write.
My fear dissipates.
I'm afraid my friend will endure unimaginable pain unless I intervene.
But she is in God's hands, I write.
Be still, I write.
Know that He is God, I write.
Let Go and Let God, I write.

I read a talk about serving for the right reasons because I found myself serving a woman yesterday and wanting to save her from the physical pain that was ailing her.  I wanted to jump in and start controlling certain aspects of her life.
Do I serve to save? I write.
Do I serve to serve the Lord? I write.

And I read a talk that gives me clarity.

"Observing and then serving is not always convenient and doesn't always fit our own timetable...Sometimes we are tempted to serve in a way that we want to serve and not necessarily in the way that is needed at the moment...ask, "Am I doing this for the Savior, or am I doing this for me?" [and] our service will more likely resemble the ministry of the Savior."

~Linda K. Burton

 And then I sit back.  I exhale.

I take in my miracle, let myself believe in it... I let myself believe that there isn't pain around the corner.  I let myself believe that I'm not a victim.  I let myself believe that I am more than okay.

And I FEEL it because it is genuine and true.

I feel genuine and true forgiveness -I hadn't even sat down to search out forgiveness.  I sat down to absorb, to meditate, and forgiveness found it's way to me as I put my pen to paper.

I feel forgiveness, I write.  It stops me in my writing tracks... and I realize that I didn't forgive IN that moment, but that I had forgiven him months ago.  Is that possible?  Is preforgiveness actually a THING?  

I stop skeptically searching for pain, and I bask in soft peace.

Miracles make it easier to sleep.

Chasing the White Rabbit

 

I remember the first time I heard the word "codependecy."
It sounded SO therapy labelish.  I hated it.  I didn't know what it was, but I was pretty sure I didn't want any part of it.
But I DID want a part of healing, and it turns out I couldn't heal without accepting -once and for all -that I was codependent.

What is codependency?
I've read a few books about it.  But what is codependency to me, personally?

It's Wonderland.

It's leaving real life -real living -reality -and plunging DOWN into a different realm where nothing makes sense.  Everything seems dramatic and hazy.
How did I get there?  I followed The White Rabbit.
Why do I stay there? I'm chasing The White Rabbit.  I've got to find it, ask it where it's going, what it's doing...
The chase is obsessive.  Nothing else matters enough to take precedence.
I come across singing flowers, ugly twins, and a bat-crap-crazy tea party, and I believe I'm going crazy.


At some point -somewhere around meeting a vanishing cat, probably -I want out of Wonderland.
I long for Reality.  I can see clearly in Reality.  There's no smoking caterpillars in Reality.
The White Rabbit isn't worth it.

I try to find a way out, but I can't seem to.  The pathway home is swept away from my sight, and I blunder along in the haze... The White Rabbit never far from my thoughts.  I don't want to think about him.  But I can't seem to stop...

The only true way OUT is to wake up.

Reality is still there, waiting on the other side of Wonderland.
The White Rabbit is not in my Reality.
And though I spent six years chasing him, I've never been more thrilled to lose.  I'm free.  I'm free of the chase.  I'm free of a life trapped in obsession.

The haze is gone, and I can see clearly.
It isn't me that's crazy.
It's Wonderland.

The Baggage Company

I spent so many years looking down.

I looked down on addicts. 
I looked down on recovery books.
I looked down on groups, therapy, even the language of recovery.

How many times did I crack the cover of recovery books only to slam them shut because they didn't agree with my logic?
Oh, my broken logic.

Surely those methods were for OTHER people that actually had problems... that were ACTUALLY screwed up.
I was okay.  Prayer would do it for me.  Prayer, scriptures, and a trusty journal.

Because I was special and strong.
I was a strong case of special.

Yes, I was STRONG.  I didn't need anyone.  well.  except for my husband...
I needed him at night.  I needed him when he was gone for work trainings.  I needed him to tell me if my outfit was okay.  If the food I made was acceptable.  If I should go to the store or not.  If I should buy Girls Scout Cookies.  If I should start walking in the morning. 
Am I okay?
Are we okay?
Is our future okay?
Am I making you happy?
Are you happy? 
Are you comfortable?
Babe?  Babe?  Babe?

He didn't ask for me to need him.  I simply reasoned with my broken logic that if he was okay with everything I did, WE would be okay.  He wouldn't need to look at porn because I would make him happy.
My food, my outfits, my activities, my sexual offerings: they would all be his favorites.
And then.  The porn would be squelched.

I was STRONG enough to squelch porn with one simple solution: self-sacrifice.

I placed myself on the Altar of Porn, and my Father in Heaven waited patiently for me to rise up, remove myself, and start my journey to another altar.
He patiently stood by while I took two steps away from the Porn Altar, ran back, took two steps away, ran back...
"They will be done," I said in my prayers... silently attaching "later" to my prayer.  But He heard.  He always does.
He held me anyway.  He never gave up on his sheep.
The more distance I put between myself and the altar, the more sense the recovery books made.
About ten months later, I took my shaking self to a PASG meeting.
I literally SHOOK.
I knew by then... I wasn't strong enough to squelch anything.
Strength has nothing to do with it.

Strength is THERE, but it is only found in submission, giving up.
I read a few days ago in the forum someone laying the first three steps out in this manner:
1) I can't.
2) God can.
3) I will let Him.

And I quit asking my husband if my food was okay.  I quit asking him if my outfits were okay (though occasionally I have to check because I have an inability to match, and my husband is great at it -his Mother raised him right.  I mean: his shoes always match his belt.  I didn't even know that was a thing...)

I started directing my questions inward.
"AM I okay?"
"Is this food good?"
"Are you comfortable?"
"Are you learning?"
"Alicia? Alicia?  Alicia?"

For years, my husband was more my father than my husband.
It's slow going, but our marriage is balancing out.
It's a huge adjustment.  HUGE.

But no longer is he the ox at the helm of My Baggage Wagon.
And no longer am I the ox of HIS Baggage Wagon.

We're both riding' the trail, Wagons side-by-side.  We're sitting pretty on the hard wooden seats of our OWN wagons, and the Lord is at the helm of each of them.
I don't always feel good about it.  I mean: it IS my baggage.  I should be the one to manage it -not dump my STUFF on someone else, right?
I can't.  I can't do it.  I can't handle my own stuff.
And why should I, when someone else has already handled it?  I just have to hand Him the reins, hop off my seat and chase my kids around the wagon.

Someday we hope to hitch our wagons together, push the baggage out onto the dusty trail and leave it behind.

And we're not special.  There's eleven or a million other wagons with us.

We call ourselves The Baggage Company.

  

via user.xmission.com

Our leader is FEARLESS.  Our members are pioneers.
We laugh, we cry, and we don't pretend to have it all together.

We move on with hope, and there IS strength.
We are strong enough because our leader is strong enough.

I have my Girl Scout Cookies, and I don't look down anymore.
Hope holds my head high.

Barnacle Baby

This is my sweet baby -my sweet, sweet baby.

She's so much a part of me -formed from me, grown in me...  She hates being away from me.  Putting her down is hardly an option.  We co-sleep, we co-live, we co-everything. 
And I like it.
She's my barnacle.  And yeah -technically, that makes me the whale.  But let's not think about that.

I love watching my baby follow her instincts.  They're all she knows.
When she's hungry, she eats.
When she's sleepy, she sleeps.
When she's uncomfortable, she cries.

Her's is a life of ultimate simplicity.

When did I forget?
When did I stop following my instincts?
When did I start ignoring my gut?

My baby is completely dependent on me for her well-being.  She relies on her parent.
Somewhere along the Line of Life, I drifted away from my dependency on my Father in Heaven, and I shifted it to dependency on the Natural Man.

Making my way back has been a painful journey.
But the longing keeps me going -the longing for confidence, for trust in myself, for simplicity...

She reminds me.

Broken

via legnanekorb.blogspot.com

Awhile back, I read a post on Andrew's Rowboat and Marbles blog that was a game-changer for me.
I can't find it to link up to it, but in the post, Andrew explains how people with addictions have broken brains.
It really hit home with me.

Up to that point, I'd been grossly judgmental toward my husband.  And I honestly assumed that he just wasn't as good as me.
Ugh -it's so painful to be 100% honest.  It's hard to type things like "he just wasn't as good as me."

I don't feel that way anymore.  I feel terrible that I ever felt that way, believed those words...  like I hadn't ever done anything AS BAD as pornography addiction.

It still hurts me, and reading Andrew's post didn't suddenly give me a heart of resilient steel.
But it suddenly gave me a heart of understanding, and it set me on a new path, a new journey... I'm forever grateful.

Lately, I've been battling some weird issues related to what I THOUGHT was my husband's addiction.

But this morning, something dawned on me.  I'm not having issues because my husband has an addiction.  I'm having issues because I have an addiction TO HIS addiction.

MY brain is broken... not just his.

I have a concrete mound of "truths" in my head that are all lies.  I've been whittling away at the mound for two years, but it still stands.  It took 6 years to build.  As disheartening as it feels to say it: I believe it will take about that long to heal.

Today will be full of pen-to-paper writing and knee-to-carpet praying.
The kind of brain surgery I require can only be trusted to the Master Surgeon.  

The Plan

 

Two years ago, I left my husband for a weekend.

Telling him what I was doing was one of the hardest things I've ever done.  My addiction to codependency had a strong pull (what addiction doesn't have a strong pull?), and going to my husband to TELL him what I had decided to do even though I knew it would make him uncomfortable was hard.
I'd spent years avoiding things that made him uncomfortable, even if they made me uncomfortable.

I couldn't look him in the eyes when I said it, "I'm leaving for a few days.  Alone.  I'll need money for a room and food.  I won't be calling or texting..."

The look in his eyes cut me to the core.  He felt abandoned and alone.  Forsaken.

But I left anyway.
I spent two days in an upstairs room of a Bed and Breakfast.  I went to a temple session to start my weekend off, and then I went to my room.  I cried in my room.  I prayed in my room.  I wrote pages and pages and pages.  I meditated.  I took deep breaths.  I napped.
I cried angrily out to my Father in Heaven.
I had never cried out in anger to anyone before -not since childhood when I lived with three older tormentors brothers.
And before going home, I attended one more Temple session -my heart full of questions and confusion.

I reached out to my Heavenly Father in prayer, asking him how HE did it.
"How do you handle it all?  How can you watch so many of us -so many of your well-loved children stray?  Disobey?  Cry out in anger toward you?  You are the perfect parent -You understand love perfectly.  How is it done?  What would Thou have me do?"

And my answer was found in the story of Adam and Eve.

Father loved Adam and Eve -they were his special children.  He loved them and wanted what was best for them.

He provided them with a home -a lovely home, a home above any other.  It was beyond beautiful.  He spoke with them -He was in their presence.  He taught them and instructed them.  More specifically: he instructed them not to eat the fruit from a certain tree.
But no matter what: He made it clear that he would respect their free agency.

Adam and Eve chose to eat the fruit.

When He was made aware of what had transpired, Heavenly Father didn't yell.  He didn't raise his voice in anger, He didn't try to manipulate them, He didn't cry, and He didn't shower them in a blanketing guilt trip.

What DID He do?

He withdrew.

He let them feel the natural consequences of their actions.

"But HOW?" I asked Him.  "HOW were you able to do that?"
The answer came in the form of a voice... and the words that were uttered in that temple on that day will forever be etched into my mind.

"I had a plan... and the plan is beautiful."

Tears spring to my eyes at the very recollection of this tender mercy.  I left the temple that day, and I began to form my own plan.  It's been a work in progress -a trial and error based plan.
But it is working.  My boundaries keep me safe from indulging in my addiction to my husband's addiction.

My plan isn't perfect. 
But I have a plan.
And it is beautiful.

Sight-Reading

 

via squarepianotech.com

I have a degree in Music Education.
I don't use it for much, but I do teach piano lessons.  I love teaching -I absolutely LOVE teaching.  Teaching is one of my passions in life.  It doesn't matter if it's music or gospel or preschool or whatever... I love it.  Right now, I have small children at home and that's where I focus my teaching.  I hope to someday teach as a career, but right now I settle for what little cash I can make as a piano teacher.

I took a break from teaching piano lessons during the month of December.  This week, I've started back up again.  It's been so refreshing to see my little students again.  It's also been much easier to teach without having to get up to use the restroom every 15 minutes.  I can lean forward and bend over and my tolerance level is back up where it should be.

My first students to return came yesterday.  They are two sweet sisters (and my cousins) -the older of which is in high school... we'll call her Micayla.

Micayla is musically inclined.  Music just MAKES sense to her -she gets it.  I never have to explain anything twice.  She isn't musically proficient, or anything... she just gets the language of music. 
It should make her easy to teach.
But she isn't easy to teach. 

Yesterday, I put a piece of music in front of her that she had never seen.  I do this every lesson with each of my students.  It's very important to teach piano students how to SIGHT-READ a piece of music.  Very often in life (and especially in the church) piano players are called on to play a piece of music they have never seen before.  Sight reading is a vital skill for a piano player.

"Sight read this," I said, and I sat back.
"Okay," she said.  She squinted her eyes, her body tensed, she leaned far forward and she played it as flawlessly as she possibly could.
I never, ever pick songs that my students could easily pluck out.
I challenge each of my students based on their skill level.

As I watched Micayla, I realized that she was striving for perfection -absolute perfection.  She wouldn't have anything less.  With every mistake -and there were many, which was to be expected -she groaned, she stopped progressing and cursed herself before moving on.
I watched her and wondered... why hadn't I realized it before?

I don't want a perfect sight-reader. 
If I had a perfect sight-reader, why would they bother with a teacher?

Micayla, I realized, doesn't want to LEARN from me so much as she wants to IMPRESS me.
She wants to come to her lesson and impress me with all the work she's already done.  The thought of coming before me -her teacher and older cousin -and MESSING UP was just too awful to fathom.

But I don't want perfection.
I want to give her a challenge, something she's never come up against, and see how she handles it.  I want to see where she makes mistakes -see what passages slow her down.  Then -together -we can work on those difficult passages.  I don't condemn her mistakes.  I don't condemn HER.  In fact, I WANT her to make mistakes so we can learn more, reach higher, and attain a higher skill level.

While it's fun to sit and listen to her play songs perfectly, it nullifies my job as a teacher.

As I watched her curse herself through a song she'd NEVER SEEN, I realized that I have the same tendency.
I don't want to mess up because I know the Master Teacher is watching.  I want to IMPRESS HIM with how well I'm doing with the challenges in front of me.
As a co-dependent, I'm looking for validation -for a pat on the head -for approval.
As a human, that's exactly what I DO NOT need.

I'm slowly learning this.
Last year, I let go of perfection. 
This year will be the year I learn to let go of my need for approval and validation.

I want to come before my Master Teacher covered in bruises and bumps and scrapes and say, "I did the best I could, but I messed up at this point and this point and THIS point is just impossible... can you help me?  Will you teach me?"

I will not nullify His position as Master Teacher. 

 

The Three-Headed Man and the Two-Faced Woman

 

Apparently, we are our own circus side-show.
My husband ready my blog two nights ago. I've always told him he's more than welcome to read it, but I strongly discouraged it. He understands my need to have a safe place to write, and he agreed that his reading it wouldn't benefit anyone.
Well.
Curiosity killed the cat.

And the next morning, after he'd been up almost half the night tossing and turning, he asked me if I wanted to stay married.
Of course I want to stay married.
He said reading my blog was like seeing another side of me -like I had two faces. It didn't sit well with him, and he said that if he was expected to be 100% honest, the least I could do was be honest as well.

For years, I wasn't honest. I didn't even realize I wasn't being honest. When he came to me with a confession of a slip or relapse, I would hold him and tell him I loved him and say things like, "WE can do this!" Inside -all the while -I was screaming. I was angry. I was devastated. But I didn't let on... until I hit rock bottom.

 At that point, it was a free for all. I was hopeless. I stopped saying, "WE can do this" and started saying, "You better do this." I started letting my emotions show, and our marriage had a rough go of it for a long time.

I feel like I am being honest now. I also feel like I definitely need a safe place to write, to sort, to let loose. This is my place to write about the part of my husband that is addicted.
This is my safe place to write about living with addicted person.
This is where I let loose.

As I've said many times before, my husband's addiction IS NOT my husband. I also live with a great, loyal man. He loves our children. He's nuts about me. He works hard to provide so I can stay home with our kids. We laugh together, cry together, dance together, sleep together, play together, vacation together, watch movies together, discuss everything together, hate money together, learn together, grow together, and attend the temple together.

He's my best friend. He's my favorite.
Especially since I officially divorced the part of him that is addicted to pornography.
I guess you could say this is my divorce blog? Ha. I do write publicly about the other parts of my husband (the other two heads) on our family blog.
"You should be reading that instead," I said. He agreed.

But it's his choice.
This is my ugly face. My healthier face blogs on a different site -a non-porny site. I've never thought of myself as two-faced before, but I am. Aren't we all, to some extent? And thank goodness! Because who wants to go out to dinner with another couple and talk about the heavy issues going on behind the scenes? There's a time and a place for it.
For me, it's here. It's support group. It's online meetings. In the meantime, keep a prayer in your heart for my husband. He's feeling assaulted, I think. He sought the attack out, I'll give him that. But he could benefit from a few extra prayers on his behalf.

He's a fighter, but he's tired right now.
To answer his question: I do NOT want to stay married to the part of him that is addicted.  But the rest of him?  Oh, boy.  Just you try and tear me away...

Great Granny

I was named after my great grandmother, Alice.
She died when I was 11, but I was lucky enough to be able to get to know her pretty well before she passed away.  I only lived a few miles from her, and I spent time with her at least once a week.  She was incredibly fond of children, and we always felt so important when we were with her.
She was a story-teller and she lived through (even thrived through) The Great Depression.  She didn't throw anything away.  She gifted us with sock monkeys made from great-grandpa's worn out red heel socks.  She cut the bottoms from her plastic household cleaners (think Downy), tossed in a bunch of yarn and ingenuity, and made tiny baby cradles for all of us grand girls.  She crocheted.  She loved to write. 
She saved all of the pictures from her old Lawson Wood Monkey Calendars and used them to creative fanciful stories to tell us on Sundays.

via animationresources.org

We'd gather around her old mustard yellow rocker as she pulled out monkey pictures... she always made the BEST stories and did all of the voices.

Soon after she passed away, I was given a school assignment to write a poem.
I got REALLY into it.  I was really thrilled with the project, and I put my heart into it.  My teacher was so pleased with my poem that she read it out loud to the class.
A few months later, we were asked to write a short story.  My classmates groaned -but I couldn't WAIT to get my hands on a blank sheet of paper.  Ideas flew through my head as the day went on, and in the end I handed in a 10-page "short" story about a pioneer girl named Alice and her little brother, Hal.  My parents loved the story so much they paraded it in front of my relatives.
As my relatives read, they remarked how I was turning out just like my great-grandmother.

The older I got, the more I heard it: I was turning out just like great-grandmother. 
I acted in school plays in high school and was approached several times by older members in the community -they told me watching me was like watching Alice in her younger years. 
After I was married, I got my hands on her journals.  I read through them and found that I was more like her than anyone else knew... even the way I wrote, my sentence structure, paralleled hers.
Her tendency to worry to the point of irrationality -her sentimentality -the way she was so interested in individuals and their stories.
We aren't anywhere NEAR physically the same.  She was short and frail.  I'm tall and corn fed.

At a Family Reunion last summer, I remarked how small she was -how she probably worried all her weight away.
My Dad's cousin was sitting next to me and she sort of chuckled.
"Well, that and the laxatives," she said.
"The what?" I asked.
"You know..." she shrugged.
"I don't," I said.
"That was a problem for her -her weight.  Her sisters were always kind of big.  She didn't want that.  Even when she was hospitalized, she would sneak off and throw her food up in the bathroom."

I had no idea.
My great-grandmother is my Illusion.  She's my Perfect Person that I admire and look up to in so many ways because I can relate to her so well.
And I suddenly loved her so much more: she struggled with her appearance -with vanity.

Step 4 has taught me just how much I struggle with vanity -how much of a road block it is for me spiritually. 
After hitting rock bottom and starting my recovery process, I came to really love myself no matter what I looked like.  I started to love my weird birth mark, my stretch marks, my pointed nose...
It was a gradual process, but the more I learned about true Christ-like love and the Porn World, the more I loved my natural body -my natural self, just the way it is.  I suddenly abhorred the idea of implants -something I'd contemplated getting in the past, thinking maybe if I was bigger I would be "enough" for my husband and he wouldn't NEED to look anywhere else anymore.
Yeesh.
Hollywood is proof that no matter how good lookin' you are, if he's going to cheat, he's going to cheat.

It surprises me how often I'm triggered with my old vanity though.

A few days ago, we went as a family into the city.  My husband took us all out to eat at a nice sit-down restaurant.  There was a 30+ minute wait to get a table for our now family of 5.
The restaurant was packed, and our family waited near the front entrance of the restaurant.  There was snow covering the ground outside, and it was freezing.  Literally.
Families were coming in clad in snowsuits, boots, heavy coats...
And then a woman came in with her boyfriend.  He was covered in a heavy Carheart coat, thick jeans, and sturdy boots.  She was wearing a see-through black lace blouse, tight jeans, and sexy boots.
When she sat down with her back to us, her shirt revealed her back.  Her bare back.  The shirt was slit up to her black lacy bra.
I looked down at my Mom Bod that just made and cranked out a baby not three weeks before.  I was feeling pretty good about just barely fitting back into my jeans. 
And I was triggered. 
Amid the chaos surrounding us, I texted my husband something along the lines of "Why can't she cover up and give us old married ladies a fighting chance?"
He texted back validations, which I'll admit, I was fishing for.

And there in lies my problem: I want to see women in tight jeans and see through blouses and NOT go to my bad place where I suddenly hate my amazing body.
I mean: I just GREW a tiny, perfect human in my body... what's to hate about that?  Would I trade it for tight jeans and sexy boots?
NO!
Is it my job, as a 27-year old MOTHER of three, to be in a "compete" mindset?
NO!
Do I need anyone's validation?
NO!
So why do I seek it out?  Why do I automatically revert to unhealthy thinking when a young, beautiful woman walks by?
I never used to feel this way, but I can't blame it on my husband's porn addiction.  This one is on me... it's on my vanity.  The addiction merely brought it to light (just like it brought my co-dependecy to light).

Unlike Great Granny, I have steps to help me overcome this.  Thanks to my husband's addiction, I've been led to a guiding light.

Because of the Atonement, I have the opportunity to NOT end up with a cabinet full of laxatives. 
All I need to do is take action.

I Don't Care

The 39th week of pregnancy is hell.
I imagine everyone is hell is walking around 39 weeks and 6 days pregnant.  Because seriously.  Nothing is worse.
You're physically limited, emotionally out of control, and there's nothing you can do about it except WAIT.

About one week before my baby was born, my husband and I left our kids with a sitter and went grocery shopping.  Walking around the store was one big mass of contractions and "honey, you have GOT to walk slower."
We were an hour late picking our children up solely because I was so slow-going.

With so much going on in my mind and body, I didn't have one inch of room left in me to CARE about my husband or think about his addiction, but as we drove home from our grocery date I felt prompted to ask him how he was doing.

I hesitated.
Mostly because I truly didn't care.  I was beyond caring whether he was looking at other women, how often he was, where he was...

But I couldn't shake the feeling, so I took a deep breath.  and I took the plunge.
He unloaded.  He opened up the deepest, most hidden-est parts of his SOUL.

He's been slipping, he confessed.
I listened as he talked -thankfully the nearest grocery store is a 30 minute drive from home, so he had plenty of miles of talk.
And when he was done, he waited nervously for my reaction.  Which was:
"Thank you for being so honest -I really appreciate it... I just don't care, you know?"

They call me Princess Tact down at the office.

Interestingly, my reaction seemed to open up MORE of my husband's soul.  Apparently, the less I care, the safer he feels talking to me.  And he HAS talked... since that day he has been 100% transparent.
Not all the news has been good news, but still.
I don't care.
Maybe my heart is two sizes too small? 
Or maybe I'm just more healed that I realized.
Maybe all I needed was a new little one in my life to help me step back, slow down, and realize that I'm doing okay.  I'm doing all right.  I'm even doing a little better than I thought I was.
Because for the first time in 8 years:
I don't care about porn.

Scattered Apples

A few weeks ago, I took my kids to my great-grandmother's apple trees.  They were LOADED this year, and as I picked apples and the kids picked apples I couldn't help but think of my great-grandmother.  She would be so happy to know that we were there, picking her apples.  I decided then and there that as soon as I'm settled in some land of my own, I'm planting some apple trees so my great-great grandkids can come and pick and eat and enjoy.  The idea of spoiling grandchildren after you're gone?  Genius!

I was referred to an article a few months ago -it detailed how a woman reacts to her husband having a porn addiction.  I tucked it in my File of Goodness (the pack of stuff I take with me to my ARP meetings).  A few weeks ago, I actually READ it.

I don't have it on hand right now -I hope you'll forgive me.  The author relates a woman discovering her husband's porn addiction to carting apples around.

A woman can be pushing a cart of apples... she's doing great, she's doing fine... and then her cart tips, her apples scatter.  Instead of heading down her course, she's suddenly a frantic mess. She drops her cart and runs after apples.  She runs right, left, north, south, up, down...

Everything sort of falls apart around her.

And so it was (and sometimes still is) with me.  

"What is wrong with me?" we all ask ourselves, time and time again.  Of course we think of the women our husband looks at -their sexiness, their appeal, their cellulite-less-ness... but I found myself applying this question outside the bedroom.

I would look at women around me with their heads on straight.  Their houses were organized for the most part.  They had hobbies and interests and accomplished things.

I, um, watched a lot of BBC and ate a lot of cookie dough.

Oh, and I policed the CRAP out of my husband.

Checked his phone, checked his email, called him, texted him, hung up helpful quotes, read helpful books, BOUGHT helpful books for him...

I traded myself for a rotten cart of spilled apples.

What was wrong with me?  Why couldn't I seem to simply LIVE like these other women?  

The more I thought about it, the more cookie dough I ate.

A few months ago, I was watching old home videos from when my older kids were still in diapers.  The video was adorable.

My house?  Holy mother of messiness -it was BAD.  And my house right now is dirty.  Really dirty.  But it's still cleaner than it was when that video was taken, and that's REALLY saying something.  I'm 34 weeks pregnant and I can't mop, for crying out loud.  But it's okay.  

My kitchen counter -though it needs a thorough scrubbing -isn't covered in piles of fabric and paper and a dusty sewing machine.

My living room -though obviously LIVED in -is easily recognizable as a living room and NOT a hoarder's haven.

I didn't even really realize it until I pulled those old home movies out, BUT MY APPLE CART IS HEADED DOWN THE HIGHWAY AGAIN!  It's not a speed wagon by any means, but I've got my wobbly cart going at a slow and steady pace.  I can see now in hindsight what was wrong with me.  I'd lost my apples, people.  Lost 'em.

This -readers -will be the FIRST baby I've had where I've had it together enough to bake and freeze meals, organize under the bathroom sinks, and have baby clothes washed and ready to go.

With my first baby, my sister-in-law took pity on me and took care of ALL of that while I was in the hospital giving birth.

I came home from the hospital with my second child and found that my mother and aunt had completely washed and sanitized my house.  And I know it was NO SMALL FEAT.  That house was an atrocity.

It seems as though the more I applied the Atonement and CLEANED MY BRAIN OUT, the cleaner my house became.  It wasn't something I did conscientiously... it was just a natural consequence of it all.  I wasn't even aware of it.

This time, everything feels brand new to me.  I'm a nervous wreck.  I'm stressed.  My nose keeps bleeding and I keep getting headaches.

I don't know what my deal is... I've DONE this twice before.  The first time, I was alone the first four months and I DID IT.

This time, I'll have help.  My husband will be here.

"Are you nervous?" I asked him late last night while we put our house through a major overhaul, moving furniture and making room for baby.

"Not at all," he said, "I'm nervous to watch you go through labor and I worry about complications... but I'm not nervous at all about bringing her home."

And I retreated to the kitchen to ask myself that lingering question.

"What is WRONG with me?"

Except this time, I know.  I know nothing is wrong with me -nothing out of the ordinary, anyway.  I'm having a baby.  Of course I'm nervous and scared and stressed and flying between fits of tears and giggles of glee.

With my first two pregnancies and new babies, I was picking up scattered apples... and when my apples scattered, they FLEW.

Today, I'm more okay... my rickety cart is full, and I'm moving slowly on -with trepidation galore.

How blessed we all are to have the Atonement.  When I wasn't applying it in my life, I wasn't living.  I'm not utilizing the Atonement to it's full potential today.  I don't understand it fully -do you?  does anyone?

But I'm learning.  I'm taking baby steps, falling down, getting up, and taking more baby steps...

And I'm scared out of my mind.

But hey.

At least the top of the fridge is clean.  ish.