Back on The Couch

 Hey, I'm in counseling.

Again.

Isn't it weird?  That first session?  You're paying for it, right?  So you don't want to waste time.  There's no time for excuses or shame or explanations... you pour out your family history with the same ease you pour out your medical history to your family physician.  I had a good chuckle after my first session over that.  

My baggage just rolls right off my tongue.  Like honey.

When I am in counseling, I almost feel like I'm holding my breath... waiting to be misunderstood or triggered.  It has happened so many times on The Couch.  Maybe I don't explain myself well enough?  Maybe I'm crazy?

I don't really rest on The Couch.  I sit tensely, trying to see myself clearly, trying to get out of my own way.

This counselor and this couch have nothing to do with my marriage.  I need a counselor just FOR ME.  I need to work on the fact that I don't trust myself.  I need to work on my self-worth issues.  

As I sat in my 12-step meeting this afternoon, I took notes.  The people in my group are just really phenomenal, and I write down insights religiously.  As one sister shared, I looked into my little introspection mirror and jotted down a question, "Can I let go of my will for my marriage?"

It is a hard question for me.  That's why I haven't answered it.

I mostly want to scoot the marriage out of the scene for a while, not fuss over where it is or isn't... and just work on daily problems.

Like the shame I feel when I

leave the house in what I'm wearing/drop the kids off late/don't eat healthy/don't clean the porch off/forget something/deny something/sleep too long/breathe too long/exist.

I want to work on trusting me to not let me down.

I feel the need to really root some self-worth down deep in my creature.  My innate has it, but the shells and layers on the outside?  We need help.

I also find that learning to have a list of things to work on is tricky when you struggle with allowing mistakes... or allowing time to take it's vital place in the scheme of things.  Line upon line, all in good time, that's God's latest message to me.  Just take one thing at a time.  TIME.  

My kids were all doing yoga together the other night, and they were getting the poses ALL WRONG.  And it was the cutest thing I'd ever seen.  I loved watching their bums in the air, their crooked little warriors.  They were giggling and jumping and twisting.  

I didn't want them to get it right.  I didn't want them following a flow.  I wanted them to be exactly where they were -exactly, exactly.  They were absolute perfection to me.  Why?  I guess because I EXPECT them to not get it perfect or even right.  

I only expect them to try stuff: new stuff, scary stuff, mundane stuff, tedious stuff, exciting stuff.

Perhaps God feels this way about me, too?

Perhaps He watches me twist and fall and giggle and He smiles down at my PROGRESS.  

It is hard to believe that I can progress while sitting on a proverbial couch, but I can.  My great-great grandpa was a pioneer to this area which meant he was basically a viking man... he settled the high desert with all it's winds and ugliness.  He broke ground, a determined, unwavering man.

And you know what he said was the most productive part of this day?  The part he spent on his couch, thinking about the day and what needed most to be done.

He had a thinking couch.

I can't help but feel a kinship to him -The Pioneer Who Sat Sometimes.  I feel myself breaking ground in my own life, and the most important progress I make is on The Couch.

Energy Work

I began researching recovery about 5 years ago.  Two and a half years ago, I began really working it hard.
My recovery work has included reading books, watching clips and movies, writing, journaling, reading scriptures, receiving Priesthood blessings, regular meetings with my Bishop, working the Healing Through Christ 12-step program with a sponsor, and attending meetings via phone or online, reading through the church's 12-steps and attending meetings when possible -leading them in my hometown when anyone showed up, working the s-anon 12-steps with a sponsor, attending Addo recovery's 6-week free program and doing the homework, attending counseling, attending group counseling, working through some of LifeStar (I work the workbooks on my own from time to time), praying, praying, praying, dailies and who knows what else?

I have been BUSY.  I can safely say that my life is worked around recovery.

As Danny is moving back in and we're trying to figure out how this all works again, I quit teaching piano lessons and slowed my life WAY down.

I have NOT been working on my physical body.  Not even a little.  I've been so busy working on my mental, spiritual and emotional health that the physical stuff just fell.
I'm really all right with that because my faulty beliefs about my body were so powerful that I believe had I worked on my physical health, it would have come from a place of loathing rather than a place of love and compassion.

I was excited to notice a few months ago that God was prompting me to start taking care of my BODY.  It somehow marked -in my mind -progress!  If God felt I was ready to work on my body, I must be READY TO WORK ON MY BODY.
I started out slow: detoxing through drinks and baths, switching out my deoderant for a more natural aluminum-free option, buying new razors (when does THAT ever happen?)...

I went to the store with $50 and spent it all on myself and bought 2 new shirts, among other things.
I buy myself fresh flowers to keep on my piano as well.

I began drinking more water, adding in daily walks.  I started emailing my best friend (who works in a health-related field) what I was eating everyday, and she challenged us both to go without sugary treats Monday-Friday.
So I basically went from eating primarily sugary treats to eating FOOD (at least 5 days out of 7, anyway).

Still, the struggles are here.  I work on self-care A LOT, and I work on recovery A LOT and still I find that I struggle.  Does that mean I'm doing it right? or wrong?
I think it simply means that I'M DOING IT, and when you actively put your mind and shoulder to the wheel, it's a struggle.

I've gone from feeling so much love for Danny to feeling like I can't live with him in a matter of minutes.  My anxiety has returned full force and depression is starting to eek it's way back into my life.

It's almost like... Danny got sober -REALLY sober, I mean (he quit actively seeking out lust hits for a year and a half now.  And he's almost 3 years sober from porn, I think.  I'm not totally certain because I don't keep track like he does) -and NOW the hard stuff is happening.

Isn't that bizarre?  You'd think getting sober WAS the hard stuff.  It's not.  This we now know, and this we now hate.

As I lost my mind two weekends ago, I decided I needed to REST.  I figuratively sat down on the mountain climb and just rested.  And then I went to get a massage and my massage therapist does "Body Talk" which is energy work.  I felt God wanted me to have it done, so I signed up and went.

My massage was wonderful -being touched is something I crave.
The Body Talk was fascinating, and I can now see that along with 12-stepping and therapy and spiritual guidance... it's going to be an integral part of my recovery.  My Body need HEALING.

As she worked on me, she uncovered:
*My difficulty with nightmares which is a sign of a greater underlying issue.
*That issue -she found -is death. 
*My body required "switching" which means that I'd had so much stress and stimuli coming IN to my body that it just flipped a breaker and shut down.
*I am not processing stimuli correctly.  Probably because I'm on overload.
*There are elements in our cells (fire, water, metal...) and my cells are on FIRE.  They were begging for more water.  "Fire is intellect and wisdom," she said, "And water is listening... things like that.  That's strange.  Usually this doesn't happen."
"No," I said, "That sounds about right.  I'm guzzling info and not listening to anyone AT ALL."
*There is a thick matrix of betrayal around my heart... it is very deep, and present on many levels.  She said it was from Danny, but as she worked on me she found that it ran deeper than Danny. 
"This has been here all your life.  Things have happened in your life to bring this out, and it is also ancestral.  When you already come with something like this -a betrayal matrix -and then it manifests itself in your life, it is disturbing and so hard to heal from."

Her words were SO VALIDATING. 
I struggle and I work SO HARD to recover, and I was starting to think something was completely wrong with me.  But knowing my ancestral history, I believe I DID already come equipped with betrayal issues.

I've been doing some of the exercises she sent me home with, and it is changing a few things.  I'm excited to see how it helps, and I am certain that it will.

I'm still laying off sugary snacks on weekdays (and I've lost a few inches and A LOT of water retention), trying to drink more water, walking daily.
I'm giving my body sun and fresh air instead of giving myself a thinner body -does that make sense?

I can see that energy work -Body Talk for me -can be a necessary tool in recovery, and I'm grateful to have landed on it.
My body is giving me a lot of information right now, and I'm trying to be still and listen.

The Kraken

My battles -my most hard-fought and bloodying battles -are fought with my fears. I have one gigantic fear that rules with an iron fist: The Mother Fear. She has babies that sprout from her like long tentacles. I can whack and battle the tentacles whack-a-mole style, and it doesn't bother me much. But when The Kraken itself is awakened, I know I'm in for at least 3 days of warfare.
I am so afraid.
SO SO AFRAID.
That at some point, I'm going to make a mistake. In this instance, I'm afraid of staying married (it might be a mistake!) and I'm afraid of getting divorced (it might be a mistake!).

What if I mess up? 
What if I do this wrong? 
What if?

Monday morning, a trigger awoke the Kraken and I spent all day wondering about my current state of limbo. I received crazy amounts of outside advice from people who usually only speak to me to find out what time of day it is.

"Make a decision and go with it. God doesn't want you in limbo. Staying AND going could both be right -just pick one and GO."
"Be compassionate for him. Try and forgive."

These voices only compounded my fear that I was IN FACT totally and royally screwing this all up.

I prayed to God for help.
Pleaded.
Screamed.
The violent sea grew more treacherous by the hour, and I knew God could calm it and me. But there was nothing in those prayers -just silence. A silent God, dangerous water, and a sea monster.

I only want to do what God wants me to do.
Please, GOD, what is the answer? 
Silence. Fear. It was ripping me to shreds.

 I kept very busy with work and teaching lessons and mothering and feeding everyone, and in one "quiet" moment, I opened my browser so I wouldn't have to THINK about the Kraken. As I scrolled through the names on my wall, one popped out at me.
Call her, the thought came. Did I even have her number? I did some digging, and YES, I did. I'd never spoke on the phone with her. We'd exchanged emails before, and though she wasn't well known to me, I'd always felt this woman to be kindred -no hint of Stranger Danger on my end. I texted her, asking if we could talk. We set up a time, and I went back into battle mode until that time crept around.

When I heard her voice, all sense of etiquette went out the window. Instead of niceties, I poured my yuck-ities into the phone.

Should I stay or should I go? 
I'm going to make a mistake, right? 
I'm so scared. 
God is silent, no direction. 
Is He waiting for ME to just MAKE a choice -both ARE right and God is waiting for ME to choose?
Am I doing this wrong? 
AM I LIMBO-ING WRONG?!?! 

Her voice was calm, something I craved amidst the tossing water around me. She spoke truth from experience, and though I can't remember her exact words, I remember her message:

You can not selectively numb. If you are numbing pain and fear, everything -including the good and God -is being numbed as well. God is not silent. 

She confessed to me that she'd felt prompted to call ME a few days earlier but hadn't on account of us not "knowing" each other. "God put your name in my head," she said, "He has not forgotten you, and He isn't silent in your life." Numbing. YES. I've been numbing. I work three hours in the morning and come home to shove lunch in my mouth and take a nap before teaching lessons, and then it's homework, dinner... and inbetween times the house is always dirty, so I can always, always be cleaning.

I don't have time or space to FEEL.
The next day I shared this insight with my dearest piano student -one who is old enough to be my mother and wise enough to be my grandmother -and she said, "Alicia, you have been betrayed.  Your trust has been betrayed, and you. went. numb.  You have to go numb to survive."

My mind flashed back to three years ago, before I became pregnant with my now-toddler, and I was PERFECT.  I was fit, my house was clean, there were freezer meals and fresh linens.  I worked out every day and wore my skinny jeans and aired the house out with PERFECTION.
But really?  REALLY?  I was fully and completely numb.  I was in total control of my own life, and I didn't NEED God because.
I got this.

Danny's life was chaotic and spinning out of control under the surface, but on the outside?  He was RIGID and in control.  My perfectionism lined up perfectly with his agenda.
Clean house.
Warm dinners.
Routine.  Regime.  Rigidity.

I was finally enough.  And yet, I couldn't feel anything.  I didn't care if he looked at porn.  I didn't care if he didn't.  I didn't write much of anything.  And while the house sparkled and shined, my music became dusty and forgotten.

"It's like being in a snake hole," my friend continued, "You're perfect and doing your best.  You look just right and act just right and eat just right and know that SURELY the snake that lives in the claustrophobic, dark hole will never strike at you because you're GOOD and sweet.  But the snake always strikes.  And you always get bit.  The hole is dark.  There is no light and no hope."
My heart wanted to beat out from it's rightful place and fall onto the piano in front of us.
She knows my pain.

In ALL of the outside voices, God had sent me TWO OF HIS OWN VOICES to let me know that
1) I am numbing
2) It's natural
3) It isn't His way
4) He is here for me
5) When I'm ready
6) It's okay that I'm not
7) BE GENTLE with myself

In all my years of being rejected, controlled, manipulated, and lied to, I never ONCE lost it.  I never yelled or screamed or broke or threw anything... because in my broken thinking, ANGER is a mistake.
And I'm PETRIFIED when it comes to making mistakes.

I have a (growing) pile of things I want to burn -ready to scorch them out of my life.  I have a poster covered in my idea of what I've lost in this addiction.  I want to burn in.
I have phrases that trigger deep resentment and pain -I want to write them on a plate and SMASH them.
I want to beat a tree with a baseball bat and swear and shout and shake my fists at God and Danny and say, "THIS. HAS. TOTALLY. SUCKED."

But if I'm too busy, I will never do it and I will never feel it and I will exists in survival mode where things aren't felt or feeled and everyone swirls around me in comfortable chaos.

I shared this with Danny and he offered to get some defensive training gear from work.  He said he could wear it while I beat him with my fists and feet.  I know that isn't conventional, but I do believe it would be healing for me and quite possibly for him.

Most of my dear sister who I would love to have by my side during a big fat burning session live hours and/or days away, but this last week God put someone in my path who lives just minutes from me, and who offers no judgement, only love.  And she approves of fires.

I gathered up my intense week and brought it to counseling Friday morning and dumped it on my counselor.
"Can you just listen for a while... while I talk?" I asked.  He nodded because he's nice, and I shared it all.
The Kraken, the fear, the outside chatter, the monumental phone call, the snake hole, the tactical gear, the fire.
I cried and sputtered out, "I can't feel this.  I can't be angry.  HOW do I let myself LET IT OUT?  Even thinking about it makes me feel awful."

He said, "When someone is physically injured as deeply as you have been emotionally injured, they are put into A COMA so they don't have to endure pain.  Your numbing is natural.  There is a better way, but don't shame yourself for becoming numb.  It makes sense that you did."
He showed me a picture of Peter, the apostle.  Peter had fallen in the sea and Christ was lifting him up.
"Peter didn't like to make any mistakes," my counselor said, "He was asked to step out of his own safety boat and into the unpredictable water.  He succumbed to fear instead of faith and Christ IMMEDIATELY lifted him up.  He didn't wait and let him flail around in the water to teach him a lesson, he IMMEDIATELY saved him."

I stared at the picture and saw my fear in Peter's eyes.
"And Alicia," my counselor said.
"Yeah?"
"The Kraken is imaginary.  Don't forget that part of your metaphor."

The Nie Bed

Two weeks ago, my soul was dark.  My life felt dark, and though there was an undercurrent of peace, the top waters of my life were chaotically tossing and heaving.

"I don't want to be married like this," I told my counselor, "I can't be married like this. I am so alone, especially when he's here."

Admitting it out loud is always painful and real.  Hearing words I've only thought is harsh.  Why?  Because I've never been honest like this.  I've never THOUGHT harsh and hard things and then SAID them.

My counselor listened to me and suggested as I work on my own healing, I channel Stephanie Nielson's journey through her change and shift in perspective.
And since I was on an honesty kick, I told him I really, really, really didn't want to read Nie anything.
Ever.

It isn't that I hate HER.  My reasons really have nothing to do with her and everything to do with me.
Stephanie's plane crash happened on my birthday, less than 2 hours away from where I live.  St. Johns, Arizona is about 90 minutes from Joseph City, Arizona.
I read about her story the next morning in the news.  I opened her blog and binge-read with the rest of the world.
I cried a lot. 100% for Stephanie and her pain.
Days went by and I read more.

As a stay-at-home Mormon mother -7 months pregnant with a boy and chasing a 20 month old girl around -her words touched me deeply, and I found myself looking at the world wildly different.
I found myself questioning my priorities and wondering how Stephanie would handle my life.  I tried to be like her, see my life as she saw her own.

But there was one difference between her life and my life.
And it wasn't the plane crash.

My husband is a sex addict.

While I was about to give birth to our second child, I was also enduring daily porn usage by my husband.  My son was born and I found myself reading less and less Nie.
My tears became 70% for Stephanie and 30% for me because her blog had glossy descriptions of her husband's unfailing ability to SEE her.
The ratios gradually flipped, and I quit reading Nie because I didn't want to hurt so much anymore.

When my counselor suggested I turn to her and study her story and life, I felt an old twinge of sadness and I told him I couldn't.  I wouldn't.
But his suggestion never left my mind.  I put my toes in the Nie water by asking a few friends if they'd read her book.  They had.  They liked it.  They weren't a puddle of tears.
I sat on the idea for a few days, and then when I fell sick over the weekend, I jumped into the Nie water.

One-click buy and 60 seconds later, I was curled up with my iPad reading, "Heaven is Here."
I cried a lot, and I cried hard.  I read the book in two days, and it took me over a week to recover.

I hated my counselor for suggesting it.  I hated that my pain wasn't visible.  I hated that Stephanie's husband was patient.  I hated that Stephanie had overwhelming passion for her husband.
I found myself jealously craving her hospital bed and the opportunity to just REST while my family took my kids because I CAN'T MOTHER LIKE MY CHILDREN NEED ME TO.

In the 6 years since my son was born and I'd quit reading Nie, I'd gone from a woman who devoted herself to marriage and home to a mother who worked part-time to save money up in case she had to support herself.
I'm separated from my husband.
He lives in the camp trailer I've affectionately named Dog House and I live in the manufactured home next to him.  Our kids have cried hard tears of fear, and my house isn't clean.
Like, ever.

You can't see my scars, but they are there.  I see them everyday, even if no one else does.

In the week following the reading of Nie, I cried a lot and couldn't WAIT to get my words on my counselor.
WHY?
WHY had he asked me to read about Stephanie?!

What could the wife of a SEX ADDICT possibly gain from reading about a woman with a devoted husband?  Do I have the safety of knowing my husband would stay by my side if I were burned?  I don't.  I really don't.  What I DO have is years upon years of struggling with image to keep up with what kept my husband's interest... a losing battle, and devastating losses have been sustained there.
Christian calls her darling.
He loves her for HER, not what she has to offer.
I cried so hard for myself when I read that book, and the trauma felt was harrowing.

Six days later, I watched a movie about a man and a woman that belonged together but could never QUITE make the connection.  There was always a boyfriend in the way or a pregnant girlfriend or an alcohol problem.  When they finally come together 15 years after they SHOULD have, she is hit by a bus and dies.
DIES.
The movie ended with thoughts about how things could have gone differently if the man had simply made different choices early on, and as the credits rolled at midnight, I found myself just fuming.
I was shaking and angry.

Fifteen years is too long.
So much is being missed.
Stephanie and Christian.
Building lives and homes together...
More kids.
Memories we never made and can't get back.
The FUTURE felt in those first kisses.
Pissed away, pissed away, pissed away.

Before I knew it, I was standing in front of the bathroom mirror, pulling my hair back with shaking hands.  I pulled a sweater on and marched myself out to The Dog House.
I woke my husband up and for the first time EVER, I took the honesty I'd tapped into with my counselor and I let it shake all over my husband.
Did I yell?
No, but I didn't feel like I needed to.
Did I cry?
Some.
Did I swear?
Once.
Did I shame?
No.

I told him how mad I was... how OF ALL HE HAD MISSED IN OUR MARRIAGE,
I
ME
ALICIA
was his biggest loss.

I could see my own worth in Stephanie and the fictional woman who'd been hit by a bus.

AS I AM, I HAVE SO MUCH TO OFFER.  Just by being, I brought a WORLD of AWESOME to my marriage and relationship. 
I deserved better.
I unleashed my own self-hate for not standing up for myself sooner, for coddling what I thought was just a little (and natural) porn habit.


I might not have passion for my husband right now, but I have stumbled upon something more important: passion for myself.

Stephanie's painful story taught me how a woman healing from wounds should be treated.  She taught me that it's okay to be irrational and say things you wouldn't normally say.
It became clear to me that my husband could and should be patient with me as I heal, and if he isn't... he needs to go away.
I can't clean my house and teach my toddler Chinese while the homemade gluten free noodles boil on low.
I can make sure we pray.  I can make sure we're honest with each other about how we're doing and what we're feeling.  I can hold my daughter while she tells me about her fears of Daddy not coming back home.
I can listen to my son tell me about the latest Power Rangers episode he watched while I sat through my weekly s-anon meeting online.

In short, I can give myself permission to see the hospital bed I'm in, even if others can't or don't or won't.
What's more: I can begin to see past hurtful words said by others to their own invisible hospital beds.
And like Christian was patient with his healing wife, so to can I work to be patient with those healing around me.

I can stand up for myself as I heal, and love will begin to seep through the cracks made by fear.

Oxygen Shortage

A little over 18 months ago, I was rolled onto my side, clinging to a hospital bed and ABSOLUTELY CERTAIN that death was a breath away.
The pain.  Oh my gosh, THE PAIN!  It was the most intense physical experience of my life. 
Danny was standing next to me, but he wasn't on the bed with me.  He wasn't feeling what I was feeling.  In short, he didn't know.
"My body is breaking," I cried out, desperate for someone -ANYONE -to realize and see!  SEE!
"Your body isn't breaking," Danny said.
I hated him in that moment.  My brain went into a tail spin.  I realized that everyone in the room THOUGHT I WAS FINE.
But I wasn't.

I knew I wasn't fine, but no one else could feel it.  In fact, they were certain I was fine!
"Your body isn't breaking."
The contractions weren't letting up.  Before one would let go, another would start.  There was no break, no rest, no regrouping, no recentering... there was a shortage of oxygen getting to my brain.
I couldn't THINK straight.

My body responded to the pain and that was that.
"I'm dying," I told my husband, desperate for him to TRULY SEE that I was -in very fact -DY.ING.
"You're not dying," he tried to soothe me.
Again, I felt crazy.  No one that wasn't me didn't seem to realize the seriousness of the situation.  I bypassed my husband and looked at a nurse.
"CAN'T YOU GIVE ME ANYTHING FOR THIS PAIN!?!"
She seemed surprised.
"Oh!  Yes!"
Apparently when I'd said a few months before that I wouldn't be having an epidural while I was in the hospital that I was one of those women who was against pain medication while birthing babies.  But I wasn't.  I just strongly felt I should have an epidural.  It was a gut feeling, so I went with it.
The hospital staff was obliging.  TOO obliging.
The nurse ran out of the room to order and get me some relief, and THAT'S when it happened.
That's when the baby decided maybe she ought to debut.

The nurse came back in, her hands filled with magic vials, "What happened?  I was gone for a minute!"
The baby happened.
Calm, serene, plump, quiet.  They placed her in my arms, and still.  STILL.  The pain was fierce.  I begged for medication.
"It will interfere with your bonding," the Dr. warned.
Oh my gosh, WHAT BONDING?  I was hurting so much I could barely focus.
It wasn't until a few hours after she came that I finally felt bonded to my baby and her cute little elf-like skin tags on her ear.  Her imperfections were just perfect to me.  I breathed her in.  I'd had two babies before, but this one?  Something was different.  I knew her.  I'd known her before.  It was a sort of foreign kind of "you're HERE" kind of reunion.
The pain -the seemingly lethal pain -brought me an immeasurable gift.

The trials in life right now seem to be just like those contractions.
Marriage broken.
Cousin hit a bus the same day Alicia starts job.  Dies twice on helicopter, makes miraculous comeback despite brain trauma.
I leave my full-time Mommying in the past and fully underestimate how hard it will be emotionally.
Grandpa in hospital.
Dad works shop and Grandpa's ranch.  Overdoes it.
Dad in hospital with viral infection.  Nearly loses the fight, transfers to ICU down int he Phoenix area. 
Alicia fields job without training because her boss (Dad) is in the hospital.
Dad comes home.
Danny leaves for 2 months to train for his new position (K9).  He's home on weekends.  The break is very timely.  As much as Alicia needs help, the marriage is just so fragile.
Mom goes into the hospital -knee surgery.
Thanksgiving comes -family tension causes a boundary Alicia hated enforcing.
Baby turns one -Alicia forgoes a baked cake and instead sticks a candle in a ho-ho.  Ole!
The next day, Danny and Alicia sit in front of the computer where Brannon is "present" as Danny reads his full disclosure.  Everything addiction related.  Alicia listens.  The session ends.  Alicia leaves town with cash and writes a very angry letter in a bed and breakfast while entertaining a fantasy about cancer... the kind that kills you.
Christmas.
Holidays.
Sicknesses.
Mom gets her other knee replaced.
Alicia starts to realize something is OFF and realizes she's going through depression.
The depression wreaks a strange sort of havoc in her life and Alicia struggles to understand what the eff is going on.
The baby begins walking and Alicia gives up on any chances of being able to sit on a clean floor.
Behind the mess of the depression and the actual literal mess of the house, the marriage situation is confusing at best and straining and worst.
But we work hard.  Counseling, group therapy, weekly meetings -both online and in person.  Sponsors.  Talking, connecting, honesty.
And then the group therapy ends abruptly.
As does counseling.
Danny's boss puts pressure of holy pressure on him.
Alicia's gall bladder begins assigning her a seat on the bathroom floor.
Each day she's sick -nausea follows eating.  Rinse repeat.  Surgery in July.

And guess what?
I'm at the "MY BODY IS BREAKING" point.  I can't breathe or see clearly anymore.  To everyone around me, I'm not breaking.  I'm fine.
But I'm on the table again.  Looking around for a blessed nurse with magic vials.
So many nurses are thronging me -food is brought in now and then, children are taken from time to time, house cleaning help both hired and volunteered is given.  The Lord is taking sweet and precious care of me as I cling to the hospital bed and cry out in desperation, "I AM DYING."

I used to wonder at people who couldn't seem to get enough help, who still despite seemingly having their basics needs me still struggled to just SMILE.  I judged them. 

And the Lord -in His sweet wisdom -is stripping me WHOLLY of that judgement.

All things will work together for our good.
I'm grateful for the suffering -it's setting a course for the way I will live out the rest of my life.  My priorities are shifted (and shifting), and if anything... if NOTHING else... the Lord is preparing me to serve His children with pure charity, unmarked by judgement.

I feel ungrateful writing these things.  I feel like a whiner.  I feel FEAR that people will hear my words and judge me because my basic needs are met and I'm still crying out from the bathroom floor, "Can't you give me anything for this pain?"

Today and everyday I will simply do the next right thing.
Living one day at a time?  When things are good.  Today I will live one moment at a time, one situation at a time.  One hour at a time. 

For when the oxygen returns to my brain, I will behold a mysterious, miraculous gift... imperfect and perfect, grand and small, a sort of birthing experience in it's own right.
And I know at that point -I will bond with it and look back on this laborious treachery as a worthwhile investment.

But for today, I'll just do the next right thing.

 

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...