Detaching From Detaching

I detached from my husband a lot over the years.

He wasn't safe, our marriage wasn't safe, a situation wasn't safe... so I'd detach and lay a brick down.  A few days later, I'd step over the brick and back into my relationship with my husband.  And then he'd go into addict mode, and I'd detach and lay a brick down.

It was a comfortable pattern.  My wall grew thick and strong.  It got to the point where if I wanted to step over it and get back into our relationship, I had to REALLY try hard.  And I would try hard, and then I would get hurt.  So I would catapult myself over the wall and add 90 million bricks, covered in "Alicia How Could You Be So STUPID?!?" tears.

Behind my wall was a wonderful world filled with everything I loved and had forgotten: my crochet hooks, my empty grid-paper journal, my hunger to learn and do more!
I dumped myself into that world and discovered that -oh my HECK, I am really fun!  Vivacious, colorful, imaginative, silly, crazy, creative!
I had this moment standing there behind my wall with my arms full of kittens, crayons, and musical instruments... I wanted to share it with someone older than the age of 6.

And that someone is my husband.
Even after all the hurts, the lies, the betrayal, the MUCK... I love him and I want him in my life.

So I did something very Alicia-ish.  I took a drill and took it to the wall.  I am CRAZY with tools.  Not crazy good... just CRAZY.
I peaked through the hole and saw him standing there.

He was doing rottenly mean things, and I watched.  I didn't feel a thing.
Something inside sort of wanted me to feel, but my wall was doing her job and I felt nothing but apathy... if it's possible to actually FEEL apathetic.
I left my tiny drilled hole and went about my business, writing, playing, crafting, cooking!  I learned a few new skills, I discovered Pinterest, I worked my own recovery.
Now and then I'd return to the wall and peak out. 

Sometimes he'd come to the wall and knock.
Sometimes I'd call out to him through the hole.

Sometimes I wanted to make the hole bigger, but fear kept me from doing it.
Sometimes I filled in the hole and cried myself to sleep.

The Wall stood proudly between us always.

But then something happened... and that something is his Step 1 Inventory.

When we were first married, my husband kicked my toenail off by accident.  Except it didn't come alllll the way off.  It left a weird stubborn stub just... THERE.  That toe was such a pain in my life.  I couldn't touch it.  I couldn't bump it.  I had to really watch other people's kicks around my precious toe.  I tried nursing it, clipping it back, painting over it.  It grew back in deformed and thick.  I limped around on it for YEARS.  YEARS!  Until one sweet day when I was dancing with my husband last year... and he finally kicked if off FOR GOOD.  It hurt like mad for a few weeks, and today I have a wonderful new toe nail and no pain.
The nail has been taken off for good.

It's uncanny how that toe mirrors my marriage.  The Step 1 Inventory finally ripped the deformed marriage OUT of it's place.

I kept myself safe from my deformed marriage because I had a wall, but as I found myself... as I came to know that I AM A LITERAL DAUGHTER OF GOD, My Father, King, Savior, Ruler and Prince of Peace... I became strong!  I became confident and sure.  And I became comfidentally SURE that I didn't want a deformed marriage anymore.

With my wall in place, I had separated from my marriage.  By abusing me, my husband had ceased to really BE a husband.  Our children were unfortunate floaters in the mess of it all, running around with boots on the wrong feet and ketchup on their faces -seemingly oblivious.

And suddenly, I was through being through with my marriage.

If my husband looked at porn, I WANTED to feel the pain and the hurt.  I AM HIS WIFE, for crying out loud.  It SHOULD hurt!  I wanted to feel the anguish that comes from rejection, the heart break of NO INTIMATE CONNECTION.  I wanted to let the emotions rise up and out and through and around, and I wanted to tell my husband how I felt.  I wanted to be SEEN for the first time in my marriage -truly seen for who I am (a daughter) and what I love (creating).

I did not want a wall to keep me safe from my own husband.

 So I used my tools and I tore the wall down, and there I stood... vulnerable and wincing and ready to go on a few dates with my husband.

I want him to need me for who I am and what I can do as a woman and as an Alicia.
I want to need him for who he is and what he can do (dishes) (just kidding) (but seriously).

I'm ready to detach from detaching and embrace my new pattern of recovery which I like to call...

Vulnerable, Honest, Living complete with the Surrender Process.

And while I'm settling into a very hard, messy place, I will say this: I love it in the same way I love pushing my physical body to health.  It's hard but there's a purpose for it.

But somehow no matter how I live whether behind a wall with A Few of My Favorite Things or in front of a wall with ALL of My Favorite Things, the kids still have their boots on the wrong feet.
I take comfort in their constancy. 

Wives Against Porn Driving

--Before we begin, the winner of the hatchet charm is NATE('s wife).  Please contact me via email at brabadges@hotmail.com and I'll mail it out next week! --

A few months ago, I was struck with how awesome it would be to organize P.U.R.E.
Porn Use Resistance Education.
Get it?  PURE?  It's genius.  Aaaaaaaand total rip off from D.A.R.E.

But anyway.  This post isn't about education.  It's about how yesterday I woke up and began getting ready for work while my husband did a counseling session via webcam with Brannon Patrick.  I wish I could say the BEST thing that ever happened to our marriage was our three wonderful kiddos.  But it's Brannon.  Right now, it's Brannon.

I went around the house in my PJs, getting our daughter ready for school and planning my day in my head.  I worked REALLY hard NOT to hear what was being said in my bedroom... because I didn't want to know.  When I started hearing snippets of the conversation, I'd start singing the first song that came to my head.
"Walkin' the floor
Feelin' so blue.
Smoke cigarettes.
Drink coffee too..."

Since I started working, my classic country music streaming has increased by about 3005% and it's amazing how many old country songs resonate with a jaded lady.

But then my husband popped out and ASKED me to please join him.  So I did, in all of my just-rolled-out-of-bed glory.  Online meetings are the best.
I only talked with Brannon for about 15 minutes, and I really like the guy.
But he totally ruined my day.  No offense, man!

My husband is leaving on Monday morning for a two-month long training.  He will be home on weekends.
"Are you feeling fear?" Brannon asked.
"No," I said.
"Why not?  Is it because you trust him to stay sober or because you don't care?"
"I don't care," I shrugged.
He then told me that was okay... I was in an okay place.
And then he said it... the worst word to hear in a counseling session.

BUT.

"But... eventually you'll need to come to place where you do care, where you can begin to reinvest and fall back in love.  It's a hard thing, Alicia, and it's just not fair."

I like that he uses my first name.  I think he's the only person who calls me by my first name even when he's not mad.

I walked away from that session and just blew up a little.  A LITTLE, not much.
"It's like you're a drunk driver," I said to my husband, "And you HIT me.  I went to the hospital and they were nice to me and loved me and then the nurses patted me on the head and said, 'okay, pretty soon you've got to get back in that car and drive that same road and the same drunk driver will be there with you.  Hope he's sober!"
It's NOT fair.
It's not fair that I've worked SO hard to detach, to be safe, to be empowered.
And where do I find myself?  I'm LONELY, guys.  Straight up, no mincing words... I'm lonely.  This sucks.

It seems like everywhere I turn people are telling me this isn't about me, that I'm not the victim.  But I always end up controlled by this situation -I seem to spin on an axis that revolves around HIS choices, and I always end up hurt OR I end up lonely.  The fact of the matter is: I AM the victim. I HAVE been hit by a drunk.
Of course I can't live in that mentality, but it's okay to own it and be mad about it when I feel the gravity of it.

I appreciate empowerment, but I don't appreciate being lonely.
I appreciate not being hurt and playing the victim, but I don't appreciate how hard and cold I feel.
Brannon had said some of the richest blessings in life come from human relationships, and here I was all walled off and thinking how some of my most awful hurts had come from human relationships.

As I made a bottle in the late afternoon, I thought about this... I hadn't wanted to talk to my husband all day because in 15 short minutes that morning he'd gone from being my husband to being my offender.
I filled baby's bottle and added formula and shook, shook, shook.  As I did, it came to me.  As clear as day, I SAW it.

Yes, I was hit.  Years ago, driving wildly down a dirt road I'd never been on before I was sideswiped by my very own, very unsober husband.
I couldn't believe it, so I didn't.  I haphazardly bandaged my wounds myself and then got back in the car.  I drove a *little* more carefully, but still without much caution.  And again: I was hit.  And again, and again, and again.
For YEARS.  YEARS!  I tried to handle the situation on my own.  I thought it was MY fault, so I tried driving better, I tried making myself more noticeable so my husband would SEEEEEEEEE me and avoid hitting me.  I tried installing GPS for him.
But it was never enough.  The accidents began getting worse, more blood, more tears...
Almost three years ago, it was the worst it had ever been.  I couldn't get up and walk away from that accident.  I just rested in the mess.
Until...
A beautiful man came. He is my Savior.  He had the answers, the tools, the ambulance, and he had the power to heal me and my car.  I turned to him and gave up trying.

He took me in his arms, and I found rest in his hospital.  He was my primary physician and He had a team of specialists working under Him.
A sponsor.
A Therapist.
A Bishop.
My Dad.

Close friends would visit me in the hospital.  Some brought food, some brought music, some brought smiles, and some brought tissues and hugs.

One visitor they couldn't keep out was my husband.  He would visit me daily, if not more.  His visits weren't always nice... in fact, most often they hurt me MORE.  It seemed that even though I'd found my way OFF the rough dirt road, the drunk driver had found a way to manage his mission by simply STANDING by me and TALKING.
Ouch.
Ouch.
Ouch.

There were glimpses of remorse.  There were glimpses of honesty.
And then there wasn't remorse or patience or empathy or apology.

My team of specialists worked under the hand of the Master Physician, and as the years went by my efforts to heal were evident.  The bruises were fading.  I found ways to avoid my husband when he came to visit, and new bruises quit forming.
The breaks, the cuts, the hurt... they were all healing and fading.

One day, I found I didn't NEED to avoid my husband.  In fact, I confronted him.  I stood in the doorway of my own room and I told him
NO.
ENOUGH.

He turned and went away.  I turned and went to bed.
The next day -much to my surprise -my husband was there again.  This time he looked different, he talked differently.
I sensed real remorse, true sorrow.

The next day, it was the same.
This went on for a good while.  At times his visits turned ugly, and I'd ask him to leave.  But for the most part, they were good visits.
The bad visits would send me back to my specialists with anger and spit in my eyes... I would get on my knees and call my Physician and ask, "WHAT IN THE H-E-ECK-ECK I AM SUPPOSED TO DO HERE?!?!?!"

And here's my answer:
choose.

My husband is visiting me in the hospital.  And when I'm ready to leave, I can CHOOSE whether I want to get back in my car (the Master Physician is also a Master Mechanic, in case you were wondering) and get back on that old dirt road.  I know my husband will be there.
I get to make the choice.
My husband doesn't have that control.

Right now, I will observe his visits.  And I have NO idea how to start reinvesting and falling back in love, so I won't.
I'll leave that up to my husband.

And I will rest.
I won't get up or get ready to get back on any road in any car until I know of myself that it's okay.  I will know.

Because of everything going on in my life right now, I haven't been able to post this... but yesterday I remembered one of my specialists was a team led by Dr. Skinner.
I've been working on recovery for nearly THREE years.  And in three years of studying and education, I have never found a program I resonated with more than AddoRecovery.  The free education I gained with AddoRecovery has sustained me and helped me understand many of the WHYs.
I recommend it to so many women, and I will continue to do so.  Forever.



Sidreis' Story (Short) from Addo Recovery on Vimeo.

Betrayal Trauma is REAL.  Even if you can't physically see the blood and the breaks, you can FEEL them.

It's a few days too late to join the latest session (SORRY!) but there's a new one coming up on the 17th of this month.

Please go to addorecovery.com/join... there's a team of specialists for YOU.

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.

Breaking Free

(The Man Who Taught Me About Breaking Free)

Last night as I drifted off to sleep, I thought about Ribbon.

Not quite twenty years ago, I rode Ribbon.  She wasn't the most gentle horse, and little kids weren't allowed to ride her.  She was stubborn and spirited -only experienced riders could manage her.

"Take her out as far as you can," my Dad said as I mounted her, "And then turn around and let her run back."

Run?  RUN?!

I'd never done that on a horse before.  I was terrified of animals, but I could manage well enough with the kiddie horses that walked slowly and never chomped at the bit for anything.  But Ribbon?  She might as well have been a fire-breathing dragon.  I was terrified of her and the idea of running her.
The only thing more terrifying than the task at hand was disappointing Dad -the John Wayne of my life.  I never argued with him. 

I started walking Ribbon away from the rest of the horses, away from the truck with a bucket full of grain and oats in the back, away from my Dad...  She didn't mind at first.
But when I took her farther than she wanted to go, she tried to turn around.  My heart pounded with fear.
"No," I said, "No..." my voice was shaking, but I was determined, "We have to keep going."
She fought, she tossed her head, she stomped.
"No," I said, fully aware that she could tell how scared I was, "No, girl."
I forced her down the field, the hacked off, dead remnants of corn at her hooves... farther and farther away.  I looked back to see how far. 
I had to gauge the distance just right -far enough away that she'd have ample time to pick up speed... if I gave into fear and turned around too soon, it would be for naught.  Dad would send me back.  I'd have to start over.
My heart pounded, my hands shook.  I hated Ribbon in that moment.
The feeling was mutual.

In what felt like an eternity, I finally reached the point where I could let her break free. 
I would have to let go of the control I had on the reigns.
I had no idea what was before me.  I was putting my small ten year old life in the hands of an animal I was terrified of.
I pulled back on the reigns and took a deep, halting breath as she came to a fighting halt.
"Okay," I whispered to myself more that Ribbon.  I tugged on the reigns so slightly -gave her a faint HINT that now she could run, and that was all she needed.
She took off.

My heart wanted to beat out of my chest as I slackened my grip on the reigns and felt the ground beneath her hooves.  Control was not mine in that moment.
Her rough gait soon evened into a something surprisingly smooth... I exhaled as exhilaration replaced fear.  I felt the fresh country air breezing past my face.  I felt... strong.

And just as soon as it started, it was over.
"How was that?" My Dad asked as I climbed down.
"Crazy!" I gushed.  I couldn't believe I had done it.  My Dad was so proud.  I was so proud.

I fell asleep last night with that memory -one I hadn't thought of since the day it came to pass in the mid 90s.

Last night, I broke free.
All it took was one slight tug on my reigns, and I turned tail and RAN.

I'm done with this marriage and the man in it.  I'm tired.  I'm emotionless. 

In the coming month, I'm opening my own checking/savings account.  I've also secured a job.  I'm not leaving.  But I'm done investing.  Did I say that already?  That I was done?
It seems to final, so intolerant, so FINAL.

I'm still living with my husband, but I'm not in this marriage anymore, nor do I want it. 
"Investing in this marriage is like pouring water into a bucket that's taken a buckshot round," I told him, "And then getting mad when my feet get wet."

It's all on him now.

I'm running free in the country, seeking independence, and leaning on the Lord -my John Wayne in the sky, prompting me on a journey I've never taken.  I'm afraid.  It's the fire-breathing dragon all over again.
The gait is rough right now -I'm only just beginning.  But if I let go of control, if I hold on for dear life while the ground flies under my feet, if I focus on my Father, I know that before I realize it, I'll be breathing easy and the gait will graduate from rough to even and eventually? to smooth.

And there will be strength.

I do love my husband.  And today, I like my husband (let's not talk about yesterday, okay?). 
I do pray for him and want success for him. 

But I don't want to be married to him anymore.

If my future includes marriage, it won't be to the man I'm sleeping next to tonight.
If my future includes marriage, it will be to someone different.
The marriage will be different.

There will be change.

I have no expectations of my husband, I have no hope. 

I have only the knowledge that I will do the next thing the Lord has for me to do.  Right now, He's prompted me toward independence, toward packing money away, toward loving my own husband as a deeply personal family member and nothing more... pure love.


I'm breaking free.

 

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.)

Let People Go

Grandpa is sick.

Grandpa is never sick... Grandpa is the man who breaks his toe in the middle of fixing a tractor and doesn't realize it until he gets home and tries to take his boot off (it had to be cut off) (he was mad about the waste of a good boot).  Grandpa is strong and steady and quiet.

Today, I held back tears as I watched two men move him from his car to his house.  He couldn't move on his own.  I had a few minutes alone with him today and I tried to joke, tried to hear anything jovial come out of his mouth... he usually holds his words in until he has something really worth saying, and it's usually a witty crack. I ached to hear the words that came.
"I'm not worth anything."

Grandpa and I have a special bond.  This quiet man is perfectly matched to my talkative nature.  We understand good music, good comedy and have spent several evenings together watching The Lawrence Welk Show.  My mother confessed she saw him shed a few tears when I was hauled off by an ambulance to birth a baby.  As of late, he's been teaching me weekly organ lessons.

And now, Grandpa is sick.
As I drove home, my daughter spoke from the back seat.
"Mom, I'm feeling sad."
"Why?"
"Because I think great grandpa might die," she began crying.
"Why?" I swallowed hard, trying to feign strength.
"His body isn't working like it should." 

We pulled into our driveway, and I scooped her up.  She sobbed and sobbed and then said something very profound for a six year old.
"It's so hard to let people go."

At that moment, I stopped feigning any kind of anything, and I cried too.  I've always been sentimental.  I used to fight it because I equated sentimentality with weakness, but having children sort of breaks down any barrier you might try to put up on the "stop crying so much" end.

I cried because it IS hard to let Grandpa go.  And I cried because it's hard to let my husband go.  And I cried because it's hard to let ME go.
Surrender was never an easy pill for any soldier to swallow.

Addiction or not, my life is unmanageable unto me.  It always has been.  I've spent my entire life trying to manage, and now I realize... it's not my life to manage.
I did not create me or give me gifts.  I didn't provide children or shelter or money.
This life is mine only because it was given to me by a loving Father.  But ultimately?  I am His.  For my life to be whole and complete, I must surrender my pride, my rebellion, my doubts, my fears, my lusts, my every mortal inclination to Him.
Ultimately.  It's my WILL I have to offer.  It's the ONLY thing I have to give to my Father, and like a toddler with a yet-undeveloped brain, I hold onto it like it is the be-all-end-all.
"MINE!"

This life is the most educational battle I will ever fight: the only battle I'll ever fight with the sole purpose of surrendering.
And people are hard to let go.

I Threw Off My Groove

  

via retronaut.com

Last night, I broke a boundary I had put in place for my On My Own week (in the which I belt Les Mis at the top of my lungs while I vacuum.  and shower.  and curl my hair).

I talked to my husband.

Okay, before you sarcastically gasp and fan your face let me just say: I accidentally skyped him for over 2 hours.  TWO HOURS!  FACE TIME!  We laughed a lot, and we talked a lot, and we laughed some more.
I got to bed around one in the mornin.

So I slept in.

YESTERDAY:
Yesterday I woke up early (on my own, per theme) and I did an hour of healing yoga:

It felt amazing (I streamed it from my Amazon Prime account -for free!) and after I was done, I logged onto youtube and streamed Music and the Spoken Word episodes (did you know they had those on youtube? Awesome) while I studied my scriptures for over thirty minutes.
As the day wore on, I pulled out my sheet music and played The Hush Sound:

And then I slowed it down a little with some P&P soundtrack music.

I took a bath.  I even shaved my legs because I wanted shaven legs and not because I looked at the calendar and realized that it was "time" for "shaved" "legs."
You know what I mean...

I pulled out the guitar and I taught the kids how good it feels to sing, "Hey Jude" at the top of their little lungs.

We shook our booties to our dancing game.  We ate grilled cheese for dinner which might have been boring had I not cut and stacked the sandwiches *just so* and pronounced dinner not JUST Grilled Cheese, but
The Tower of Sandwiches!
I pull out my best Circus Ringleader voice for special occasions (like last night, when I'm too lazy to crack open a CAN of tomato soup and would rather the kids be happy with just cheese and bread, buttered and fried).

It was a great day.
We ended it by Skyping with Dad, and when the kids were done talking (read: making faces and noises), I hopped on to tell him one quick, funny story about our oldest.
Two and a half hours later, I logged off.
I slept in because I got to bed late.  I did yoga this morning with a crying baby in the background (not exactly a healing experience...) and I also woke up with PMS, a swollen sore on the inside of my bottom lip that I can't seem to NOT bite repeatedly, and a missing cat.

And I'm like.
ugh.

I keep wanting to text my husband.
"Pics are paid for, so no worries."
"Can't find Spatsy the Catsy.  Hope he turns up."
"My pants don't fit today..."
"I started buying us tickets to a Jimmy Eat World concert and then realized we have a baby and can't go."
"I read the book of Enos this morning, and I'm pretty sure it was written in 2013.  Just sayin."

My son has been on the verge of tears all day.
My daughter is LOVING it, as older siblings tend to do...
My baby is darling.  when she's being held.

Overall, it's still been a good day.  But WHY why why do I break boundaries?  Why do I do that?  I threw off my groove!

Trying to get it back has been a struggle.  
I just needed someone to talk to about it -someone who understood WHY he's gone and WHY I can't just call him and talk it all out.

Tonight I will work on my recovery stuff On My Own. I'll get to bed earlier.   Tomorrow I'll wake up earlier and fit in my yoga and MoTab.
And after a morning of playing Indians with a gaggle of pint-sizers, I have a counseling appointment.

In the meantime, do you know if you can take Midol while nursing?
(I jest.)
(kinda.)

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.

GImme a Break

 

via theredpillroom.blogspot.com

Sunday, my husband is leaving.

I've asked him to leave for a week -not a punishment, not as a trial separation, not as anything except I prayed about how to handle and deal with my present state of life, and the answer I got was: it's time.  It's time to spend some time apart.

I fought it at first, but I've learned the hard way just how devastating it is to ignore the Spirit.

He took a week off of work, and off he's going.  What will he be doing exactly?  I haven't the foggiest.  And I'm okay with that.  I feel the Spirit telling me to back off from him.  

"I only want to know when you slip," I said to him two days ago, "That's all.  If you feel prompted to tell me more, go for it.  If not, I think it's time for me to take a giant step back."

I expected him to rage a little, push back, fight it... but he said, "I agree."

And that's that.  for today.

His recent disclosures have revealed some more work that I need to do.  I thought I had certain issues sort of  "checked off" and now I realize they're plaguing me as much as ever.  And my codependency is so much a part of me that changing it is a big process.  I need some space.

For starters, I'm fixing the lights in my cars.  I backed my jeep into my truck and broke one headlight and one taillight.  My husband hopped online and bought new ones, and he was texting me...

"I found a taillight for $25 -sweet!" 

and it suddenly hit me.  What in the frack was going on?!  I hit the truck!  I broke the lights!  I should be the one fixing what I messed up!  So I texted him back, "Thanks for finding that -I should be the one to do it."

They came in the mail yesterday, and today.  I'm putting them in.

Thank goodness my Dad is a mechanic.  I'm going to go to the shop while I do it -that way if I start to mess up or have questions, I can go to a mechanic for answers -not my husband.

My grandma has a solid oak table she picked up at a second-hand store.  My current kitchen table is aching for the dump, and so I'm working side-by-side with grandma to strip the table of stain and paint.  I'm going to sand and stain and all that jazz -a great project while my husband is gone.  

My grandmother is probably the least codependent person in the world.  I think I can learn a lot from her, staining and otherwise.

I'm taking organ lesson from Grandpa, every Tuesday night for an hour I sit at his organ and he sits on the couch and I play and he sits there silently, injecting a quiet, "try the piano stop on the upper" or a "try that again but with your right hand on the lower." And just when I start to think he's sitting on the couch silently cringing and hating every slow, drawn-out song I'm playing, he says, "You've got a nice touch -real nice touch."

I'm secretly aspiring to be the ward organist someday.  Grandpa can't be there EVERY Sunday.  The man has to be allowed to get sick (though he never does).

I will find time to dance with the kids, and I will find time to encourage them to face their fears as well.

My week apart from my husband will be a week of empowerment -a week of pioneering it, fixing it, parenting it, doing it my own way.  And I'm going to take a week "off" from the Internet -at least, certain and most parts of it.

I will still host the online meeting on Tuesday.

I will still use my email.

I will not be facebooking or blogging here.  I will remove the facebook app from my phone (I only put it on my phone at the end of my pregnancy).

And my prayer is simply this, "I've only got a week -work in me during that week.  Let it not be for naught."

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).

Unseen Walls

When I became pregnant with my first-born, I heard so many mothers express their excitement.
"The minute they're placed into your arms, you'll feel so much love... it just overwhelms you," they said.

I'd heard my own Mom talk about the love that comes with the birth of a child, and I was anxiously awaiting my turn to feel the Mother Love.  And after laboring for 18 hours under insurmountable drugs and pushing for almost an hour to get my posterior-positioned baby out... I didn't feel much of anything except RELIEF and TIREDNESS.
I didn't want to hold my baby so much as I wanted sleep. The drugs made it impossible to fight off sleep, so I drifted off -no baby in my arms.

The minutes, days, weeks, and months that followed were full of gross amounts of anxiety, virtually no sleep, and a cute-but-colicky baby.
When our baby was three days old, my husband left for the police academy, and I spent the next four months at home with our very fussy baby.
My husband was in the thick of his addiction.  I was in the thick of my addiction TO his addiction.  The distance (and the fact that he was in a dorm room) only increased my addiction.
I was also in the thick of new mommy.
I spent my day getting screamed at.
My husband spent his getting screamed at by academy instructors with a background in military boot camp training.
At the end of each day, we'd connect on our cell phones, and our conversations were pretty pathetic.
Because I'd lost my bubbliness and can-do attitude, my husband began to worry about me and the way I was handling our new one.
"I'm just worried that you don't love her," he once said.
He shouldn't have said that.  I think he realized it a few minutes after I turned into a Lioness.
But anyway. 
I DID love my daughter, despite her talent for screaming for -I kid you not -7 hours straight.
About 22 months later, I found myself in labor again... this time there was no drugs.  Labor was 2 hours instead of 18, and I pushed twice... instead of for nearly an hour.
This time -I thought -THIS TIME I will feel the Mother Love -the washing over, the overwhelming, unable to put into words MOTHER LOVE.
Instead I felt shock (he was a month early).
But I DID love my son.

Behind the mothering scenes, I was busy.  I was actively policing my husband, checking his phone, knocking on the bathroom door, checking browser histories, asking, snooping, prying, accusing...
I had an addiction.

There were no children for a few years.  During those years, I hit rock bottom and detached from my husband's addiction.  I started the road to recovery.
I quit trying to "help."  I quit policing. 
I went through a period of half a year where I cried, erupted at any given moment.  Sometimes I couldn't get out of bed.  Sometimes I couldn't fold laundry.  Sometimes all I could do was eat cookie dough and bless the person who invented the idea of instant movie and television streaming because my kids were getting bored of watching their movies over and over and over...

One year later, my husband told me he felt it was time to have another one.  I disagreed.
After a lot of praying, talking, praying, talking... we decided to try.  I wasn't ready, Heavenly Father knew it, and it took us almost a year to get pregnant for which I will forever be grateful.
I wasn't strong enough to stand my ground and follow my gut that was telling me, "Not now -not yet."
Those eight months gave me time to prepare -mentally, physically (I'd gained 10 pounds during The Cookie Dough Year), spiritually...

And I found myself in labor again.
It was three hours long, no drugs, two pushes (? maybe one?  maybe three?) and so. much. pain!  Again, I was trying to give birth to a baby in the posterior position... when I was handed my new baby girl, I was in so much pain I couldn't FEEL anything through it.
But after the pain meds kicked in... after I'd had a chance to eat something and take a restful power nap: I was moved into another (quieter) room.  My husband left with his mother for a while, and it was just My Mom, My Baby, and Me.
And THERE it was.
It washed over me, and I looked at the perfect and precious spirit in my arms and I was completely overwhelmed.
I couldn't believe it.

The Mother Love has continued to wash over me -time and time again.  When I wake up in the morning and see her tired, squishy face... when we nap together, when she smiles, when I smell her...

My mom told me she could always feel our spirits -how they felt so much bigger than our little bodies.
"But you know what I mean," she said, referring to my own kids and mothering experience.
"No," I shook my head.  I'd never felt it.

But that day -12/12/12 in a sterilized hospital -I felt it.  My baby wasn't actually a baby.  I felt it -her spirit is bigger than any physical containment.
I felt a little guilty over the difference I'd felt with this one -was she my favorite?  Would I treat her like a princess and leave my other two kids in the dust?

But as the days and weeks have gone on, I've felt washed over not only with my new one... but with my other two as well.  I can feel their spirits like I never have before.

My addiction had put up walls of protection.  I'd felt like I was protecting myself when I was policing... if I stopped his addiction, I could stop the pain.  It made perfect sense... except.

I didn't realize that as I was trying to protect myself, I was building walls.  I build walls of protection so high -so thick... that I inadvertently kept out love.  I had lost the ability to properly love others, to properly love myself.

I'm knocking those walls down now.

And it's harrowing to see what I've missed out on.
But thank goodness -thank GOODNESS -the walls are coming down. 

Love is worth pounding down every wall in it's path... no matter how painful, no matter how much cookie dough and weight gain, no matter the cost:

Those little fingers are some of my biggest blessings.

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.

Recovery Me

My husband called me selfish.

He wasn't mean about it or anything.  It wasn't said out of anger or spite, and his voice level was calm and low.
"It just isn't like you," he said one night, "It's just that you're being..."
"What is it?" I asked.
"Selfish," he said, "And it's so weird because it's not like you at all."

Ah.
"I am being selfish," I said, "I know it seems awful to you, but it's what I need right now."



My husband called me bossy.

via

He wasn't mean about it or anything.  It wasn't said out of anger or spite, and his voice level was calm and even a little teasing.
"You can't tell me what to do.  I don't like being bossed."

Ah.
"I am being bossy," I said, "I know it seems awful to you, but I'm pregnant."
"I know," he said, "That's why I've been nice about it."

The thing is: I don't know if I'm being selfish and bossy because I'm pregnant or because I'm gaining some grounds in recovery.
I don't know if I am actually being selfish in a lot of areas.  I used to be SO available to him.  I used to do cute dating things and pamper him on bad days.  In the meantime, I was never available to me.
So, at the risk of upsetting the dysfunctional harmony of our home, I switched it up.  I became available to me.  I do cute things for other people (and our kiddos) and pamper me on bad days.

And I got bossy.
I never was before.  He was always the bossy one.  He made most every decision in our marriage, and I was more of a child than an equal partner.  When things didn't go the way I wanted them to, I would hunker down and suffer in silence.  I kept quiet when deep down inside of me, something was telling me not to -whether it was my heart or my gut or the both of them combined, I shoved them out of the way.  I quit being true to myself.
So, at the risk of upsetting the dysfunctional harmony of our home, I started standing up for myself.
"If you send one more text while you're driving and the kids and I are in tow, I'm going to snatch your phone out of your hands and throw it out the window," I said a few weeks ago, after spending years ignoring the gut feeling telling me to SPEAK UP.  My tone was teasing, but he caught my meaning.
"I'm going to get blood work done whether it coincides with your appointments or not.  I've put it off long enough, and we need to make sure the baby is okay."
"I'm going HERE."
"I'm doing THIS."

He's been so patient with me through this EMOTIONAL pregnancy, and he's pinning hopes on my selfishness and bossiness taking a hike once the baby's a few weeks old.

But will it?
And can he stand to live with Recovery Me?
Because I can't stand to live without Recovery Me.

Loyal Bulldog

 

via

My husband is loyal.

He's stayed with jobs that have sunk him financially because he wanted to stand by his boss (pre-wife and kids).  He's stood by friends, family, you-name-its.

When I was hospitalized with an infection, he hardly left my side.  He fought the doctors for me.  It made the nursing staff swoony, and they often complimented me on him.
"You don't know how lucky you are," they would say when they checked my vitals, "You would be surprised how many husbands aren't anything like that."
Yes, yes.
Very lucky.

So why?  Why is my loyal husband so... not loyal?
It's something that has plagued me all of my marriage.
"He is so loyal," his mother would say to me so very often.
"Yes, yes," I'd say.
"Very loyal," I'd say.
And then my mind would race.  If he's so bloody loyal, where the heck do I rank?  Beneath financially bankrupt bosses that take advantage of free labor?
Eh?

For the past week, this question has been on my mind... only this time it's a little different.  Usually I replay the question in my mind, and then I bask in The Land o' Victims.
I'm not worth being loyal to.
He's loyal to HIMSELF alone... always looking out for #1 (eye roll).
Men (spit!)...
And then I would eat cookie dough.

This time I didn't sail to the Land.  I just... thought a thought.  I mulled it over in my brain.
Why?  WHY?  He's so loyal...
Loyal.
Loyal.
He IS loyal.  HOW is he loyal?

He doesn't flirt with other women.  He doesn't have a facebook account.  He doesn't reconnect with old girlfriends.  He doesn't fantasize about other women.
His phone is never hidden from me.  He leaves it out, lets me answer it, lets me text from it and read texts on it if I really want to.  Which I usually don't because I have once or twice and it's a huge yawn-fest.
He won't even spend a few dollars without asking me first, and he's the one who is primarily in charge of the finances.
I dwelt on all of this, and then my thoughts branched beyond the realms of sexuality.
I thought of my hospital stay, how he'd been right there.
I thought of the little boy in Primary who had disrespected me without me even knowing it... I had been teaching sharing time.  My husband is a Primary teacher.  He heard a kid being disrespectful toward me (I didn't hear it because I'm not awesome enough to be that aware), and he immediately brought the disrespect to a screeching halt.
And then there was his sister... she'd spent an entire evening texting him about how I'd done him wrong over something I wrote on facebook (I know, I know.  I thought we were grown ups too...) and while she was poking her nose in to DEFEND her brother's honor, he made his stance very clear: he's with me.  And then he insisted she oughta be with me too.
He almost got into a fight with a gaggle of boys who asked me via cardboard sign to flash them.
You should see him when I get cut off in traffic or when the sandwich I order isn't quite up to snuff...

He is, people, my loyal bull dog.

So what's the DEAL with this PORN thing? My thoughts took a turn.  And then it dawned on me.  I mean, I already knew it, but I didn't KNOW it, know it.  You know?

He isn't doing this to me.

He's trapped -his agency has been compromised to some extent.
"It's like something takes a hold of me," he told me once in a revealing conversation, "I can physically FEEL it inside -it pulls me and it makes me feel powerless."

He isn't doing this to me.
He was doing this BEFORE me.
This has nothing to do with me.

Does it hurt me?  Oh, more than anyone who hasn't gone through it would know.  But he doesn't MEAN to. He doesn't WANT to.

For so many years, it felt like he was doing this TO me.  It did.  It still does on some days, but as I detach and I work on recovery, the easier it is to feel the truth of that statement:

My husband is loyal.  He isn't doing this to me.  Not really, really.  Even though it may FEEL like he is, I need to keep a corner pocket in my brain for this week's thoughts...
No matter how much it hurts, no matter the pain, the tears, the heart break:
I can take it personally, or I can choose freedom from being a victim.
Most days I'm safely home.  But some days, I still set up camp in the Land o' Victims.  And when I do, I need to remember the truth that has been taught to me this week.
It doesn't excuse him.  It doesn't excuse his behavior.  It isn't a free pass.
But it's a free pass for me -a free pass out of the Land.

I can type that.  I can write that.  Living it is a different story entirely -one that I'm learning very slowly.  This week, I'm so grateful for the lesson I've been taught.
How many times have we learned something we already "knew?"
I'll be honest: I'm not super excited to APPLY this principle -I'd much rather he stay sober.
But I'm grateful for truth.
I'm grateful for his loyalty in all it's forms.
I'm most sincerely grateful that my Savior is the perfect model of loyalty, and that He's always there for me, in hospitals, on facebook, in the middle of the night, in fits of tears, and smiles of glee...
He's here.  Always here.

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.

Hulky Bruce

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I've been struggling for a while now to label my husband's shifts in attitudes.
Jekyll and Hyde?
Bi-polarish?

So many times women have said, without knowing our situation, "If my husband had a porn problem, I would leave him.  THAT'S my line."
I always nod along.  I'm sure that IS their line, but when it comes right down to it -when that "line" is crossed, we start to really find out about ourselves.

I know a woman who raised a large family with her husband of many, many years.  While his daughter was in high school, he did prison time for having inappropriate relations with her.  He did his time, he is a registered sex offender, and he and his wife are still married to this day.
His wife is a very grounded woman.
He is a very somber, humble man.  There's not a lick of "I got away with it" in his countenance.

THAT is my line.  If you harm my kids, buddy, I'm gone.  But I've spent years hurting and healing and hurting and healing... my trust is broken, my faith in my husband wobbly, and something like that would definitely send me running for cover -running away forever.

And as I listen to women insist that if their husband has a porn problem they would leave, I wonder about myself.
Am I just not strong enough?
Am I just stupid?

But the thing is.  I know something about people with porn problems that they don't.
People with porn problems can still be nice, giving, warm, wonderful, funny, and repentant.
The porn doesn't define them until... well, until it does.  And even then, it isn't obvious to the outside world -it isn't even obvious to them.  I see it in my husband, and I've finally found a label for it.
My husband is my Bruce Banner.
He is also my Hulk.

He white-knuckles trying to control the beast -he tries, he hates his Hulk, and he uses all kinds of tools to right the monster.
But something will trigger it, and he will lose control.
And he really does smash.
Smash what trust he's built.
Smash my faith in him.
Smash the kids' little feelings when things get taken out on them that shouldn't.
Smash my bruised heart (sorry, there was no way around being sappily dramatic on that one).
Smash, smash, smash.

And then he comes out of it: he flies out of acting out into a pile of crap, exposed, naked, vulnerable, embarrassed, humbled, and resolved to shove his Hulk out of the picture for good.

The thing is: I can't leave Bruce Banner.  Who would?  No one with half a brain.
The other thing is: I CAN leave Hulk.  I don't freaking have to live with that monster.

I didn't always know that.  I didn't realize that I could take the Bruce and leave the Hulk.  I thought they were one in the same, marrying one meant marrying the other.
But I didn't marry the Hulk.
And whenever he comes around to smash, I'm leaving.  Or I'm barring the door.  Either way, there's no place for him here.
And guess what?  I'm AM strong enough.  I'm NOT stupid.
What's more: I've learned more about myself than I ever thought possible.  It isn't all good, but I'm grateful to be learning it.  I'm grateful a "line" has been crossed.  It's hard and it hurts and sometimes I scream and sometimes I cry and sometimes I write angry letters to women who wear skirts so tight I can see their thong line.
But it's also revealing, and everything I'm learning I get to take with me later on.
I've lived with the Hulk long enough to learn what I've needed to learn from him, and I don't need him anymore.  I don't WANT him anymore.
I'll stick with my good doctor.
For now.

Illusion Marriage

I went through a real mourning period early last year.  I hadn't lost anyone close to me, but I had lost -forever -what I thought was my ideal romance.

 

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I'd dreamed of it as a child.

I'd completely planned my wedding before I reached the ripe old age of 9, and I held fast to it all.  When I met my husband, I knew... I just KNEW: he was The One.  He was the one who was different.

When his porn "problem" reared it's ugly head in our marriage, I battled it with all the energy of a scorned woman.  PORN was the Other Woman in our marriage -she had infiltrated my fairy tale.  She needed to be demolished.  Our house needed to be purified, sanitized, sterilized.

You should have seen me at work.  I was a full time Master o' Control.  I checked the computer, his phone, our DVD collection, his brain... and I never let him shower without making sure he wasn't acting out.  I never made a trip to the grocery store without texting him at least 5 times to make sure he wasn't acting out.  If he was tempted, I had a list for him.

How To Be Perfect, by: Your Loving Wife.

I dropped my friends, my hobbies, my interest... MYSELF.  I put it ALL into the Porn Eradication Act.

Five years later, my husband came to me with a confession.  He'd been acting out.  He'd been lying.  I sent the kids to my mom's and when he got home from work, we sat together over a Large take-out pizza and discussed everything so matter-of-factly.

"So it is what it is," I said, "Let's just do this.  We know what we need to do."

"Yes," he nodded.

At this point, I had eased up on my policing.  His sobriety had improved.  A few months went by, and I lightly and jokingly asked how he'd been doing.

I expected him to lightly joke back.  I expected a good report.

Instead I got an immediate countenance change -hung shoulders, hung head...

"I'm not doing good," he said to his shoes.

This time it was MY turn for a countenance change.  I was floored -decked -utterly shocked.

"WHAT?!" Was all I could say.  My tone surprised him.  He looked up and immediately moved forward to hold me.

I balked.  I refused to let him touch me.  I began to cry... the kind of startled cry a child produces when their pet parakeet is suddenly 'et up by the neighbor's cat (totally happened to me once.  No lie).

"I had no idea..." I sputtered, "I only asked... I didn't think..."

And then I fled -Disney Princess style -to the bathroom.  I locked the door.  I sat in the tub.  I pulled the shower curtain closed and I cried myself senseless.

How was I supposed to preserve My Fairy Tale?  The Porn was beating ME and I wasn't the one with the porn problem!

At that point, I gave up.  I quit exercising (what was the point?).  I quit watching what I ate (what was the point?).  I quit cleaning (what was the point?).  I quit socializing (what was the point?). 

I gained ten pounds (his fault).

And I saw no hope in my future.  

I'd planned my entire little life to get married and live my ideal marriage... and through no fault of my own it had been snatched from me.

I was a GOOD PERSON.

I deserved a GOOD MARRIAGE.  I deserved to have MY IDEA of a GOOD MARRIAGE.

And it slowly dawned on me that I would never have it.  My husband's porn problem wasn't a problem.  It was gripping addiction.

How I hated the word -it rolled so destructively from my tongue. 

I married Prince Addict.

It was disaster of epic proportions.

There was a movie made in the Good Ol' 90's titled "Sabrina."  It is a modern remake of an old black and white starring Audrey Hepburn and Humphrey Bogart.

 

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Both movies have their own appeal, and I love them both equally.  But the modern one has a line that I love with all my heart.

Sabrina is in LOVE with David.

David notices Sabrina in the way a neighbor might notice you got a new car.  Might.

 

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Sabrina's father is so concerned with her infatuation that he ships her off to Paris for awhile.  While in Paris, her boss notices that Sabrina seems distracted.  Sabrina confesses her LOVE.  Her boss tells her that David sounds like an illusion.  She then goes on to say, "Illusions are dangerous people.  They have no flaws."

My Illusion Marriage was dangerous to me... it had no flaws.

I sort of lived out my Illusion Marriage when I was enforcing The Porn Eradication Act.  I would sometimes pretend there was no porn, and he would pretend there was no porn and we would swim around the sharks with ease and glee.

During these times, I would get upset.  I would get grouchy.  I would have bad days.

He would call me on them -it wasn't okay that I was upset... not in the Illusion Marriage.  

In the Illusion Marriage, we took turns playing victim and rescuer.  On my bad days, I was the victim.  He would pull me up OUT of my bad mood because it was his job.  When he tried and I still stayed in my bad mood...

Well.

That wasn't allowed.

And it went both ways.  We behaved that way, you understand, because we LOVED each other.  We loved each other enough to pull one another up.  What a gloriously wonderful responsibility!

But later on... later on when I had ran weeping from the shark-infested waters, I sat on the shore, gained ten stress pounds watching my husband flirt with imminent death, and just stopped making him happy.

I went against everything Dr. Laura had ever taught me!

When my husband had a bad day and came home grouchy, I let him.  Once I actually loaded my kids and I up in the car and took off on him stating, "We're leaving.  You can't act like this toward us.  We haven't done anything wrong.  We'll come back later when you've cooled off.  You need a break."

And I drove away, hands a'shakin.

I was terrified.

When we came home, he was significantly more calm.  He was unapologetic, but it didn't matter.  What mattered was that he wasn't treating me or my lovely kids unfairly.

A few weeks after that, I was the grouchy one.  I was the one with the attitude problem.  Instead of trying to fix my mood -to lift me -he only put his hands squarely on my shoulders.

"You are a grouch," he said, looking straight into my eyes, "Here's some gas money.  Leave.  Go take a break."

He was trying to be confident about the whole thing, but I could see the trepidation behind his eyes.  He was scared I might react... I might be hurt by him, offended, upset.

I only hugged him to me and cried all my make-up off onto his t-shirt.  I was so grateful for him.

"Thank you," I said.

Two hours later, I came home.  

I came through the front door and tossed my husband a bag of his favorite candy.

"What this for?" he asked, looking up from his video game.

"For calling me a grouch," I said, "You called me out, gave me money and told me to leave.  It meant a lot.  Thanks."

"Yeah," he nodded, "I'm way nicer than you are..."

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"When I'm a grouch, you call me out and then YOU leave and you never give me any money," he said, making sure his arms were 100% around me when he said it so I couldn't slap him.

And then I laughed so hard I cried.

Right at that moment I realized that we were building partners.

The Real Marriage we are building from the rubble of the Illusion is so good I'm nearly scared.  It isn't all good, and usually the good is fleeting and rare.  But it's not finished.  It's slow and steady going.

We're not building one of those cookie cutter houses in city neighborhoods that all look like the one right next to it.

We're building the groundwork for a real monument.  It's painstaking and horrible and hard.  Neither one of us knows if it's a project that we'll see through to the end.  All we know is that right now.  today.  there's a job at hand.  So we're working on it.  I'm working on one end.  He's working on another.  

There's bad weather and communication hiccups and financial tension.

BUT the small successes keep us going, and they are each SO good that they keep me just hopeful enough to ride out the next day.

Goodbye, my Illusion Marriage.

You were such a shoddy friend.