Progressive Miracle

We are going to San Francisco this weekend.  In less than 24 hours, Danny and I will be alone in a strange city together.

Tomorrow is our anniversary.  Eleven years of marriage.
Eleven.
Eleven years really isn't THAT long, and yet -it's long enough to have three kids and almost lose each other.

Something hit me about a week ago -a hunger? a crazy urge?  I don't know.  All I know is that we booked some last-minute tickets, and The Word of the Week has been
MIRACLE
For the last few years, I haven't worn a wedding ring.  I haven't been willing to DATE let alone go away for the weekend like we usually do for our anniversaries. 

I've had people tell me I'm crazy to stay.  I've had an inner voice tell me I'm crazy to stay.
Danny has had people tell him I'M crazy and he's crazy to try and stick it out with me.

Our critics have fallen into two categories:
1) Porn is normal, so come off it already
2) Porn is abominable, so leave already

It certainly doesn't make sense to people on the outside, and it doesn't have to.  At the end of the day when we're with each other checking in and talking about things that would boggle the minds of people who think we're nuts... we feel at peace, we feel at home.

A few weeks ago, I caught Danny's eye as we were watching youtube videos as a family.  I held his gaze, I held his hand, and the wordless connection was powerful -so powerful our eyes welled up.
We said "I love you."
But we didn't need to say it.

I've longed for a connection like that for YEARS.  I don't expect it to be maintained constantly, but to know it's there, to know I have access to it, means the world to me.

Danny's been gone all week... he's training in Ohio, and I'm at home dealing with this ridiculous chronic illness, three kids, three dogs, and three cats, and one overflowing toilet.
Somehow we are all fed and thriving.  Another miracle.

As he's been gone, I've felt some very old fears rise up within me.  For so long, I didn't care what he did while he was away, but lately my heart has opened back up.  I've learned that it's safe to begin to re-attach to Danny, and that is TERRIFYING because my muscle and brain memory tells me, "Loving means hurting."
That is TRUE.
But I'm learning that it isn't the end -that hurt can be a catalyst for growth, a chance for rigorous honesty as I express my feelings and needs, the gateway to an intimate experience with God.  Pain is information to me.

Danny has proven to me through time that he's HERE, even if he doesn't understand fully what I'm going through, he's going to sit with me anyway.

And so I'm re-attaching.
Does that make me crazy? 
It doesn't FEEL crazy, even if it looks crazy... and I know Danny will say the same thing.

This weekend signifies something huge. 

It's showing us that we've made strides.
It's letting us know that we're brave enough to spend money on ourselves.
It's come naturally, unforced and definitely unplanned (what the heck do I even pack?!).

And as I've mulled over what this trip means about where we are in our relationship and in healing our relationship, I keep stumbling on immersive gratitude and the realization that recovery has brought about miracles in our marriage and lives.

I'll meet Danny as he lands in Phoenix from Ohio and before he can even set foot into the hot AZ sun, we will be on our way to Cali.
Alone.

Does this mean we've "made it?" That our marriage is in the clear?  That it's time to "move on" and get passed this seemingly never-ending trial?

No, it doesn't mean any of those things.

Danny and I will never reach the "MADE IT" point, either together or individually.  The more recovery work we do, the more we find TO DO, and it is the most rewarding, harrowing work we've ever done or ever will do!
Our marriage will never be in the clear. But what does that matter, if our faith lies in God and not in each other?  It's a harsh, harsh thing to accept.  It seems unfair and even unhealthy to some, but trusting in GOD and putting my faith, loyalty and love in HIM has proven to be the singularly most freeing act I've ever embarked on.
We will never move on from this trial, and I prefer it that way.  I prefer a marriage where we acknowledge frailty, where we check in and focus on connection, where we hone in on God. I prefer a home of healing.

To the outside world, it's just a weekend getaway for our anniversary.  It's as simple as that.
But to my world, and the world here in this little blog... it's a miracle, absolute, utter and completely.

Our critics have become a distant fog for us, and we're reaching forward and biting into this delicious, golden fruit called connection that has touched every facet of our lives.

And it means that I have more to surrender when he leaves on a business trip and stays alone in a hotel for a week.
It means risking being hurt more and again.  It means more open hearts, more open arms, and more joy as well.

It feels right.
Today, it feels right.

Maybe I'll sing a different tune when I'm triggered in California, but I'll worry about that Golden Gate Bridge when I get there.  Right now, I'm just going to hug the miracle.

And seriously, I need to pack.





 

Connection Waves

As I've studied and worked on healing from addiction, I've come to see parts of marriage that I didn't even know were there.
I watched a TED talk today -one I've seen a few times -by Amy Cuddy all about Body Language (recommended to me by Scabs).

Sister Cuddy mentions an experiment in which subjects were asked to participate in an interview where the interviewer was basically expressionless. She says:

 ...they go through a very stressful job interview. It's five minutes long. They are being recorded. They're being judged also, and the judges are trained to give no nonverbal feedback, so they look like this [still face]. Imagine this is the person interviewing you. So for five minutes, nothing, and this is worse than being heckled. People hate this. It's what Marianne LaFrance calls "standing in social quicksand."

It so telling that we would rather have a negative connection than NO connection, but really?  Connection is so very vital, something we crave because we NEED it -like air, food, water.

Danny and I are starting to get these glamorous, indulgent tastes of true, positive connection.  It makes the relationship we had 7 years ago seem surface... not always bad, but definitely surface.  It was the copper medal, and now we're touching gold.
Touching.
We spend about 30% of our time together touching gold.
35% falling away from the gold.
35% crawling back toward it.
_______________________________________________
100% of our marriage deals with connection (lack of, leaning toward, enjoying...)

I'm trying to learn how to be patient when Danny is stressed about something out of his control.  My body -my smart, smart body -has retained a fancy sort of muscle memory where whenever Danny is stressed, I start protecting myself because I believe scary things inevitably follow.
This doesn't mean that Danny always acted out, but it does mean that his addict-related behaviors dominated the day, and those are very scary to me... mostly because I lose him in those moments (sometimes because I leave -figurative or literally, and sometimes because he does -figuratively, usually).
Losing Danny terrifies me.  I love Danny.

Because I haven't been feeling well these days, I've spent a lot (A LOT) of time trying to reconcile my body to it's tenant: my spirit.
As I navigate the messages they're trying to send each other, as I dance the dance of moderation, listening, control, surrender...
I find that I spend
30% of my time in a healthy place
35% of my time falling out of a healthy place
35% of my time working my way BACK to a healthy place
__________________________________________________
100% of the relationship between my body and spirit deals with CONNECTION.

The relationship they have is JUST like a marriage.  It's an intimate connection that takes work, dedication, loyalty, love, faith!
I find that my spirit left the presence of The Father to cleave to it's earthly body.

In my marriage, Danny and I both are trying -daily, and it is NOT always easy! -to keep God in the center of ourselves (first!) and our homes.
Inside of me, I am trying to keep my Spirit moving toward God and my Body moving toward God, hoping they will TOUCH GOLD.

And they do.  They do touch gold 30% of the time.
I can imagine what it would feel like if I weren't so sick these days.

Connection is key.  My body is speaking to me, and I'm learning to be patient as it works through the STUFF it's been holding for years.

As I lean into yoga poses, I feel FEAR in my body.  It is terrified to simply OPEN UP because it knows, it KNOWS about pain and how pain comes after opening up.

My yoga instructor said on Monday morning, "Try to take this stretch somewhere you've never taken it.  Maybe you're going to put more space between your head and chest.  Maybe you'll be able to take the stretch deeper.  Maybe you'll be able to feel a muscle in a way you haven't before.  I know you've done this stretch a hundred times... so let's do it differently.  We don't want to be the same as we were yesterday."
Everything Taura says sounds so deep when I'm on a mat in her Mom's backyard.

With that in mind, I adopted a new mantra to add to my list of Adopted Mantras:

Every Day a Difference

Today will be different from the day before.  I'll try something new, take in something new, learn something new!  I'll make someone else's day different.  I won't go to sleep at night knowing that I'm waking up the same as I woke up the day before.  My expectations for this mantra are enthusiastically low, but enthusiastic nonetheless.

So I'm charging out into the world toward DIFFERENCE.
Sometimes it means adding.  Sometimes it means taking away.
Mostly it means that I keep riding those percentages waves in the right direction -RIDING, mind you, not stagnating on the wave only to be squelched by the quenching water.

It's simply finding a way to progress while being patient and accepting of where I am in life: whether I'm in a GOLD day or not.

Will I ever reach a place where everyday will be gold?  Perhaps The Land of Gold lies only in those with silver hair?  I don't know.  I don't know the answer.
But what I do know is that it's okay that I don't know.  It's okay that I'm riding some waves because the waves are all CONNECTION based, and THAT... that is one sweet wave to ride, even if you're coming down.

PS: if you want to be different than you were yesterday, watch the TED talk above.  Seriously.

What My Recovery Looks Like

Years ago, I functioned under the assumption that recovery was what my husband did for his problem.

And my recovery?  Well.
It would naturally sort of take form when Danny's STUFF was all taken care of and his hands were brushed clean, hat doffed, all that.
It was like waiting for the three good fairies to come and spell me into a slumber of ignorance... only to awake when all the crap was over and done with.

Thorns cut?
Fight done?
Dragon slayed?  
Sweet, NOW wake the princess.  But not a minute before...

It makes sense.  It does.  It makes logical sense. 
But it doesn't make actual REAL LIFE, HANDS ON sense.  I found myself in the bulk of life -in the day to dayness of it all -just completely and utterly toeing the line of insanity.  One soft nudge, one gentle breeze and I plummeted. 

I can't tell you how many times that happened.  I really can't.  It wasn't once.  It was a lot more than once.
While it does tug at my heart strings that I seem to need to fall REPEATEDLY before a light bulb flickers dimly over my head... I DO take heart in the fact that -no matter how long it takes me to figure it out -I eventually will start moving away from The Cliffs of Insanity.
Inconceivable!

And while I feel the hungry itch to put what my own recovery looks like into words tonight, I will start by saying, "It's not at all like sleeping."
There's no fairies.

My recovery is simple.
And it's not easy.
THAT'S how I know it's right for me.  If there's ever anything in my life that is simple and pushes me... it's usually TRUTH.

My recovery means surrender.
It means finding myself in day to dayness and feeling insane.  Is it because I enforced a boundary?  Because I opened up to someone about my life and story and can't manage what happens next?  Is it because someone snapped at me in the line at Wal-Mart?  Is it because my house is messy and I suddenly find myself the butt end of my own shame jokes?
YES.
And the beat goes on, by the way.  Plenty more insanity where that came from.

My recovery comes in at that point.  Those situations are inevitable.  When they come up, I have a choice.

I can REACH IN.
or I can REACH OUT.

Reaching in involves everything that is indulgent and peace-but-for-a-small-moment.
It also kind of carries a demotivational poster that reads, "A moment on the lips, forever on the hips."
But I digress...

Reaching out is how I surrender.  I send up a prayer and connect with God.
Heavenly Father, I can not manage or control what it going on.  I can't.  I can't.  I can't. 
I pour my heart out and remind God that I AM BROKEN.
And then God reminds ME that I'm broken. 

At that point, I pick up my phone.
I dial.
I talk.  I talk to someone who isn't at the end of a facebook account.  I have to do more than that.  I have to put myself out there more.  I need to be willing to dial and say, "I am broken."
Whether into an answering machine or not... it yields the fruits of peace.

THEN I write.  Then I take to facebook or Amish pen t' paper.  THEN I send it out into the wild blue cyber.

THAT'S WHAT I DO EVERYDAY.
Because every day.  EVERY day, I come up against situations that make me feel crazy, that remind me that I CAN'T and that put a beautifully clean mirror up in front of me to show me that though I walk upright on two perfectly capable size 9 feet and stand tall... I am very broken, and beautifully so.
The kind of broken that turns clay into pottery and paint into majesty...

I hate that mirror.  I love that mirror.  I sit in front of it and write copious notes.  I observe what I see and I write it down.  I pray to God and ask Him to show me what HE sees in the mirror -what He would like ME to see, and I write.
I share my findings with someone I trust.
Hear that? 
I REACH OUT.

Using what I find, I begin the Clay To Vase Refining Process.
I prayerfully go about how to do it...
Who needs to be part of this process?
What needs to go?
What needs to stay?
What needs to be brought out?
What needs to be mended?

And then I put my feet to the pavement.
Sometimes it's an army crawl.
Sometimes it's a power walk.
Sometimes it's rolling forward because my legs have HAD it.

But any way you look at it, it's CONNECTION with the world around me.
REACHING OUT.

 I have a swear.
Something I just can't allow.
It goes something like, "boot straps" or "big girl panties."
When it comes to recovery, these just do not apply.  Okay, Alicia?  There's no room LEFT in your BODY for emotions to be stuffed down. 
Picking up and carrying on and being big and not feeling.  NUMBING.  GOING IN and getting in my own head about my own shortcomings is just.
Just!
futile.
So damn futile.

Recovery is the art of connection, vulnerability, and intimacy.

It looks a lot like someone else's job.
But it just isn't.
It's wholly and completely mine. 

In truth: I try diligently to work my recovery every day.
Some days, I don't end up working it.  I get to the end of the day and find myself in a straight jacket plastered in splatters of Nutella, and then I remember.
Oh yeah.  Recovery.  Coulda, Woulda, Shoulda.
Which is 100% more awareness than I had in June of 2012, so I still count that as progress.
not perfection.

I have dailies to keep me on the path of serenity, to remind me that there's a better way.

Work step 12 at least once daily.
Read my scriptures first thing in the morning.
Give one thing daily (a hug, a smile, gratitude, babysitting, a hot pad...)
Email a list of what I eat each day to my sponsor (Nutella happens)

I have bottom lines I strive not to cross.

Don't make jokes about my weight.
Don't report my work outs to my husband.
Don't daydream or plan our 10 year anniversary (fantasizing and daydreaming are amazing at shooting me up with pleasant numbness)
No ring shopping (I have serious fantasy issues.  It comes with being a creative writer.  I should really be channeling my creative imagination into more profitable places.  Stupid Groupon.)

I fail a lot.
And when I fail, it is not fun to REACH OUT. 
But reaching out is the key to all of this: to breaking chains and forging bonds, to clearly understanding God's love and seeing it in the eyes of those I address as Sister and Brother.

The fruits are sweet, so sweet that "sweet" seems like toddlerspeak as I try to put words to how incredible the miracle of recovery is -how incredible The Atonement is.

I have the right to choose, thanks to my Savior and My God.
I choose to reach out TO THEM and to their children.

I choose healing.
Every day, I am given the opportunity to make that choice.

Thanks be to Crissy for putting to paper (Amish Style) something I flippantly joked about earlier... her willingness to sketch me with a cape is pretty much the best Amish stunt that's ever come my way.

Thank you, Crissy girl.
You make me feel like I have He-Man's power.
 By the power of Greyskull...

 

PS: do I spy a hatchet necklace?!  PRETTY sure I need this framed to go next to my Undefeated Woman trophy.  Awesome.  Just balls to the wall AWESOME.

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.

Into Me See

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

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

It all goes back to Avatar, I swear.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I want it.
I waaaaaaant it!

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

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

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

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




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

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

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

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

Other Men

I miscarried our first pregnancy. 

It was awful... it was seriously awful.  When I was curled up in the chapel area in the hospital, trying to find some peaceful sleep, I blocked out porn.  A person shouldn't have to think about her husband looking at porn while she's coming to grips with shattered dreams and loss.  I put a pin in it, so to speak.

Once home, I didn't get out of bed for a solid week.  Once I faced the world again, I decided to get a job.  I applied to be a manager at a local movie theater.  I landed the job, and although I had no experience actually WORKING in a theater, the staff was really sweet and helped me out. 
One guy in particular was really sweet.
Like, really.

He was also charming and attentive.  He knew I was married.  And I knew I was married.
So why didn't I keep my distance?  I didn't kiss him or flirt with him, but I crossed a mental line. 
Why?
Because you can't put a pin in porn addiction... at the time I didn't SEE it as porn addiction.  All I knew was that my husband couldn't stop looking at other women, and that there was something tangible missing in our marriage that I tried to fill so many different ways: more sex, thoughtful gifts...
What was missing?  A connection -a real connection.

I didn't discourage Sam at the theater.  I liked that he liked me.  I knew he was trouble -even the owners had warned me.  Their exact words were, "Beware of Sam.  You're married, but you're pretty.  All he cares about is the pretty."

After I'd worked there for a month, I found out I was pregnant.  Sam overheard me tell the owners that I was suffering from morning sickness (I still hate popcorn because the smell of it nauseates me now).  And that was that.  Suddenly reality hit Sam.
"Wait," he said, "You're PREGNANT?"
"Yeah," I nodded.
"Ohhh," he said.  But it sounded more like, "ewwww."

A few weeks later, my husband and I moved.  We packed up our studio apartment... well, HE packed up with his Mom's help while I helplessly sat on the floor and tried not puking.  We moved four hours away, bringing the addiction with us wherever we went.
We brought a little one into our life and moved again.
The addiction was there.  The connection I so craved was sparse.
After I had our second, I found myself drawn to someone in our ward.  I didn't flirt with him, I didn't kiss him or even touch him.
But the draw was there.  He would never know anything about it, but I was very aware of the inner fight going on inside of myself.

And just like in the case of Theater Sam, I told no one.  Nothing had happened, so why say anything?

Right now, my husband and I are distant.  We are far apart, and more than EVER, I crave connection.
Guys, I am LONELY.

I find myself enjoying the old cowboys who come into work and call me by the names they call their horses: Darlin', Sweets...
My counselor is a healthy man who SEES me.  I'm drawn to that.

It isn't just ONE man... it's ANY man I perceive as safe!  The Connection Craving is strong right now.

BUT.
THIS.
TIME.

I know what to do.  I know who to tell.  And I DO tell.  I talk to my husband about it.  I even told my counselor about it.
"How does your husband feel about it?" he asked.
"He likes you too," I said.  And then I laughed really hard at the whole situation.  I demystified it.

I call my sponsor. 
I pray.
I write it out -I physically put the words on paper -and I surrender the feelings.  Not once, not twice, but AS MANY TIMES AS IT TAKES.

My longing for connection is healthy, and it will be filled.  I'm not destined to live a lonely life.  I will keep my desire through surrender.  I won't squelch it or shame myself.
But how do I keep it without acting on it?  Because if I were to act on it right now, it would be bad...

I surrender.

And I listen to the voice of my counselor say, "Talk about it.  Don't hide this craving.  If you do, you will be caught off guard in a bad situation."

I am susceptible.
And unhealthy men have a sort of radar for lonely, vulnerable women.

Lonely.
Vulnerable.
It's like looking in a mirror...