I'm dialing down outside noise: less blogging, less reading, less VOICES.
I don't know when I'll be back. I'm not putting precise limits on myself -I'm letting God do the guiding.
I'm relying on the words of Emily Woodmansee:
Wednesday, July 23, 2014
In the Silence
Right now, I need total clarity -as much clarity as I can get.
I'm dialing down outside noise: less blogging, less reading, less VOICES.
I don't know when I'll be back. I'm not putting precise limits on myself -I'm letting God do the guiding.
I'm relying on the words of Emily Woodmansee:
I'm dialing down outside noise: less blogging, less reading, less VOICES.
I don't know when I'll be back. I'm not putting precise limits on myself -I'm letting God do the guiding.
I'm relying on the words of Emily Woodmansee:
Tuesday, July 15, 2014
Not in my Hands
Years ago, I gave my husband to God -I'd kept him for years, audacious enough to somehow believe that he belonged to me.
It's all very 50's doo-wop and romantic-sounding... with *just a hint* of maniac control.
Now that I've done my best to dust that kind of mentality on my mom jeans, I still find myself running into situations that are
FULLY
out of my hands.
It's one thing when porn isn't looked at. Sobriety on the part of the addict somehow mandates my being MORE okay, right? I mean, not 100% ship-shape, but... better?
I somehow feel like asking for SOBRIETY AND RECOVERY is too much. It makes me high strung and mean and impatient... unkind, lacking compassion.
But the truth is: Danny never was in my hands or my power or control. He acted as he would.
And when I finally, finally, FINALLY accepted that and let go completely... I found that trust is something I had to let go of as well.
He may be sober, but there is no trust. Will there ever be?
Who can know?
It's all very 50's doo-wop and romantic-sounding... with *just a hint* of maniac control.
Now that I've done my best to dust that kind of mentality on my mom jeans, I still find myself running into situations that are
FULLY
out of my hands.
It's one thing when porn isn't looked at. Sobriety on the part of the addict somehow mandates my being MORE okay, right? I mean, not 100% ship-shape, but... better?
I somehow feel like asking for SOBRIETY AND RECOVERY is too much. It makes me high strung and mean and impatient... unkind, lacking compassion.
But the truth is: Danny never was in my hands or my power or control. He acted as he would.
And when I finally, finally, FINALLY accepted that and let go completely... I found that trust is something I had to let go of as well.
He may be sober, but there is no trust. Will there ever be?
Who can know?
Tuesday, July 8, 2014
Fightin' For My Own Hand
Last year, I typed up a list of my boundaries and read them out loud to Danny.
My heart was pounding, my hands were shaking... I was terrified.
What would he think?
What would he SAY?
What would his reaction be?
What if he didn't approve?
I had prayed about my list and been pretty thorough as I typed it out. I'd combed over it time and time again before printing it. We won't even TALK about how long it took me to tell Danny I needed some time with him to TALK about SOME THINGS.
But I did it.
That piece of paper was my permission slip -my training ground. I fell back on it when my gut told me something was off.
My boundaries kept me safe.
I HATE NOT FEELING SAFE. As a Beehive, I wrote the infamous "What I Want in My Future Husband" list, and THE FIRST thing on it? Security.
As a blinking 12-year old, I wanted to be safe more than I wanted anything else in a man.
In Addorecovery, I learned that in the course of being married to a man with an addiction, I'd been slowly trained to ignore my gut. The truth of that statement hit me hard and fast -like a blow. The realization was at once shocking and hair-raising. I couldn't believe it, and yet...
For YEARS, I would operate under Danny's thumb... ever submissive, ever resentful. I felt his hold on me and I didn't quite know what to do about it. I loved him deeply, and I didn't want to upset him by arguing or making a fuss -neither of which I actually really knew how to DO anyway.
My boundary list was my baby step into those waters.
They let me make a fuss when I felt controlled, manipulated, or scared.
They let me argue when I felt unheard, unseen or brushed aside.
I followed my boundaries with the courage of a shaking, late-summer leaf. Barely hanging on, but HANGING ON.
Fear was my constant companion, as always. But I began to find that each time I stood up for myself, the fear had less power. I slowly began gaining courage.
I found myself needing my paper less and less as boundaries became a natural part of my life rather than an awkward ritual carried out each time I felt tightness in my chest or a knot in my stomach.
I came to find out that instead of RESENTING DANNY for not keeping me safe, I could MAKE MYSELF SAFE by listening to my gut and the Spirit and SPEAKING UP.
God meant for me to speak up. That's why he gave me this voice, this spirit, this fighting soul that refuses to buckle... that senses and feels every emotion so deeply.
I can put words to what I feel.
I will put words to what I feel.
And I will HONOR what my soul is telling me with complete honesty.
No more will I calculate and plan HOW to say it, how to bring it up, how to lessen the blow.
No more will I shake and shiver and avoid.
No more will fear of other people -husband included -keep me squashed in a tired, damp corner where only rats remind me that -once again -I've allowed myself to be beaten down.
I am not aggressive, but I can be assertive.
I can be fully honest, as the Savior would have me be, and as He is.
I can take His advice and give no thought beforehand to the things I might say, but I can simply open my mouth when I feel so moved and let the words come, let His truth pour forth from the depths of my soul.
I can let His light come through when the darkness threatens to pull me under.
I can surrender what others may think or say about my actions because I know -I KNOW NOW -that my words and actions, when honest and unflinching -belong to the Lord.
If the Lord be with me, who can be against me? Or rather, what does it matter if they are?
No more will I control my own voice, try to put it where I believe it ought to be (which -honestly -I sometimes believe IS in that dark, ratty corner)... but I will give my voice unto God.
For He will uphold me when I feel fear, and He will carry me through those awful moments when I don't think I CAN SPEAK MY TRUTH... because I usually can't. But HE CAN if
I
WILL
BUT
OPEN
MY
MOUTH.
My heart was pounding, my hands were shaking... I was terrified.
What would he think?
What would he SAY?
What would his reaction be?
What if he didn't approve?
I had prayed about my list and been pretty thorough as I typed it out. I'd combed over it time and time again before printing it. We won't even TALK about how long it took me to tell Danny I needed some time with him to TALK about SOME THINGS.
But I did it.
That piece of paper was my permission slip -my training ground. I fell back on it when my gut told me something was off.
My boundaries kept me safe.
I HATE NOT FEELING SAFE. As a Beehive, I wrote the infamous "What I Want in My Future Husband" list, and THE FIRST thing on it? Security.
As a blinking 12-year old, I wanted to be safe more than I wanted anything else in a man.
In Addorecovery, I learned that in the course of being married to a man with an addiction, I'd been slowly trained to ignore my gut. The truth of that statement hit me hard and fast -like a blow. The realization was at once shocking and hair-raising. I couldn't believe it, and yet...
For YEARS, I would operate under Danny's thumb... ever submissive, ever resentful. I felt his hold on me and I didn't quite know what to do about it. I loved him deeply, and I didn't want to upset him by arguing or making a fuss -neither of which I actually really knew how to DO anyway.
My boundary list was my baby step into those waters.
They let me make a fuss when I felt controlled, manipulated, or scared.
They let me argue when I felt unheard, unseen or brushed aside.
I followed my boundaries with the courage of a shaking, late-summer leaf. Barely hanging on, but HANGING ON.
Fear was my constant companion, as always. But I began to find that each time I stood up for myself, the fear had less power. I slowly began gaining courage.
I found myself needing my paper less and less as boundaries became a natural part of my life rather than an awkward ritual carried out each time I felt tightness in my chest or a knot in my stomach.
I came to find out that instead of RESENTING DANNY for not keeping me safe, I could MAKE MYSELF SAFE by listening to my gut and the Spirit and SPEAKING UP.
God meant for me to speak up. That's why he gave me this voice, this spirit, this fighting soul that refuses to buckle... that senses and feels every emotion so deeply.
I can put words to what I feel.
I will put words to what I feel.
And I will HONOR what my soul is telling me with complete honesty.
No more will I calculate and plan HOW to say it, how to bring it up, how to lessen the blow.
No more will I shake and shiver and avoid.
No more will fear of other people -husband included -keep me squashed in a tired, damp corner where only rats remind me that -once again -I've allowed myself to be beaten down.
I am not aggressive, but I can be assertive.
I can be fully honest, as the Savior would have me be, and as He is.
I can take His advice and give no thought beforehand to the things I might say, but I can simply open my mouth when I feel so moved and let the words come, let His truth pour forth from the depths of my soul.
I can let His light come through when the darkness threatens to pull me under.
I can surrender what others may think or say about my actions because I know -I KNOW NOW -that my words and actions, when honest and unflinching -belong to the Lord.
If the Lord be with me, who can be against me? Or rather, what does it matter if they are?
No more will I control my own voice, try to put it where I believe it ought to be (which -honestly -I sometimes believe IS in that dark, ratty corner)... but I will give my voice unto God.
For He will uphold me when I feel fear, and He will carry me through those awful moments when I don't think I CAN SPEAK MY TRUTH... because I usually can't. But HE CAN if
I
WILL
BUT
OPEN
MY
MOUTH.
Saturday, July 5, 2014
Happy 5th
Did you make it?
Did you make it through one of THE most triggering holidays of all holidays?
Did you make it through the short shorts? The bikinis?
Did you make it through feeling less than because your yard doesn't look like the pictures in Country Living?
Did you make it through seeing other families together? BBQing? Laughing?
Did you make it through the disconnect in your life? marriage?
Did you make it through seeing others seem perfect?
Did you make it through wanting to scream a little?
Did you make it through wanting to cry a lot?
Maybe you didn't deal with any of that. Maybe you only dealt with some. Maybe you dealt with all.
Either way, I'm just popping in to say:
It's FINALLY the FRIGGIN' FIFTH. And you -you, wonderful you -MADE IT THROUGH.
It's a whole new kind of freedom fighting when you're fighting to be free from the trauma that travels with addictions... fighting to not let baggage rule the holiday. Fighting to be free from manipulation, control, and drama. Fighting to be free from the hostage of our own minds who convince us we're less than or better than.
Fight to be FREE to LIVE.
B'cuz it's patriotic, that's why.
Did you make it through one of THE most triggering holidays of all holidays?
Did you make it through the short shorts? The bikinis?
Did you make it through feeling less than because your yard doesn't look like the pictures in Country Living?
Did you make it through seeing other families together? BBQing? Laughing?
Did you make it through the disconnect in your life? marriage?
Did you make it through seeing others seem perfect?
Did you make it through wanting to scream a little?
Did you make it through wanting to cry a lot?
Maybe you didn't deal with any of that. Maybe you only dealt with some. Maybe you dealt with all.
Either way, I'm just popping in to say:
It's FINALLY the FRIGGIN' FIFTH. And you -you, wonderful you -MADE IT THROUGH.
It's a whole new kind of freedom fighting when you're fighting to be free from the trauma that travels with addictions... fighting to not let baggage rule the holiday. Fighting to be free from manipulation, control, and drama. Fighting to be free from the hostage of our own minds who convince us we're less than or better than.
Fight to be FREE to LIVE.
B'cuz it's patriotic, that's why.
Thursday, July 3, 2014
In a Million Little Pieces
Maybe I've said this before.
It's entirely possible.
When the Lord has something to tell me, He reiterates his message over and over... because my skull is THICK and I have small children. If there's a message He feels I need to hear, I'll find it texted to me, emailed to me, quoted in lessons, posted on random facebook walls.
AND THEN I go, "Oh, wait... WAIT. I think something's coming through..."
Sometimes its a song, sometimes a poem, a quote.
This time around it's an idea... a word, a symbolic word.
Stuff all around me is breaking, breaking, breaking. Toilet chains, car doors, gall bladders, MY MARRIAGE (things escalate quickly around here).
I've been moping and murmuring... moaning and groaning, "God, would be it be too much to ask to just have the toilet flush? The sink to drain? The car door to shut?" Each small, stinging reminders of the bigger broken issues in my life.
I broke a vase this morning, a beautiful bowl two weeks ago.
Shattered shards flying,
My soul prays: God, this is ridiculous. I've longed deeply for security and safety and all I'm being served is broken EVERYTHING. I. am. TERRIFIED.
I'm financially broken.
Physically broken.
Spiritually broken.
Emotionally broken.
Depression reigns my brain making me feel like a stranger here.
God, this is ridiculous. Can't you see?! Am I to be The Eternal Service Project? The Girl Who Used to Contribute but Somehow Just BROKE Somewhere Around 2013?
A few weeks ago, as I was getting ready to meet up with Bishop to check in, a woman approached me and asked if I'd help her in her Relief Society lesson a few weeks out.
"I need someone to read their scriptures every day right when they get up -before they do anything else -and journal their thoughts."
I took the challenge.
I've been reading a chapter each morning on my Gospel Library App and I felt like writing my thoughts would really challenge me.
Forgive me for being IRRITATINGLY OBVIOUS, but THIS HAS BEEN A CHALLENGE. Actually doing it isn't hard, but trying to have thoughts worth writing right as I wake up?
Forgeddabboudit.
Some mornings I wrote deep things like, "I think I'm doing this wrong."
Some mornings I wrote honest things like, "Checked facebook first out of habit."
Some mornings I had insights like, "I AM THE LOST SHEEP, not one of the ninety and nine."
And one morning, I learned what I already knew:
The Lord had been simply sending me a message the only way He knows to get through: repetition.
I read in Luke 20 verse 18:
"Whosoever shall fall upon that stone shall be broken..."
Verse 17 references stone to ROCK.
What does this mean to me? That when I fall on the Lord, I am broken.
God has let me know that I'm doing His will.
There is beauty in the breaking and the broken.
While my heart aches and my soul longs for trust and safety in my broken marriage and heart, the Lord has shown me truth.
Letting go of control and turning it over to God IS NOT easy, but IT IS what I want to do.
I know now that because my entire world is broken, I AM FALLING ON GOD.
Peace has come, all is well -because all is broken.
It's entirely possible.
When the Lord has something to tell me, He reiterates his message over and over... because my skull is THICK and I have small children. If there's a message He feels I need to hear, I'll find it texted to me, emailed to me, quoted in lessons, posted on random facebook walls.
AND THEN I go, "Oh, wait... WAIT. I think something's coming through..."
Sometimes its a song, sometimes a poem, a quote.
This time around it's an idea... a word, a symbolic word.
Stuff all around me is breaking, breaking, breaking. Toilet chains, car doors, gall bladders, MY MARRIAGE (things escalate quickly around here).
I've been moping and murmuring... moaning and groaning, "God, would be it be too much to ask to just have the toilet flush? The sink to drain? The car door to shut?" Each small, stinging reminders of the bigger broken issues in my life.
I broke a vase this morning, a beautiful bowl two weeks ago.
Shattered shards flying,
My soul prays: God, this is ridiculous. I've longed deeply for security and safety and all I'm being served is broken EVERYTHING. I. am. TERRIFIED.
I'm financially broken.
Physically broken.
Spiritually broken.
Emotionally broken.
Depression reigns my brain making me feel like a stranger here.
God, this is ridiculous. Can't you see?! Am I to be The Eternal Service Project? The Girl Who Used to Contribute but Somehow Just BROKE Somewhere Around 2013?
A few weeks ago, as I was getting ready to meet up with Bishop to check in, a woman approached me and asked if I'd help her in her Relief Society lesson a few weeks out.
"I need someone to read their scriptures every day right when they get up -before they do anything else -and journal their thoughts."
I took the challenge.
I've been reading a chapter each morning on my Gospel Library App and I felt like writing my thoughts would really challenge me.
Forgive me for being IRRITATINGLY OBVIOUS, but THIS HAS BEEN A CHALLENGE. Actually doing it isn't hard, but trying to have thoughts worth writing right as I wake up?
Forgeddabboudit.
Some mornings I wrote deep things like, "I think I'm doing this wrong."
Some mornings I wrote honest things like, "Checked facebook first out of habit."
Some mornings I had insights like, "I AM THE LOST SHEEP, not one of the ninety and nine."
And one morning, I learned what I already knew:
The Lord had been simply sending me a message the only way He knows to get through: repetition.
I read in Luke 20 verse 18:
"Whosoever shall fall upon that stone shall be broken..."
Verse 17 references stone to ROCK.
What does this mean to me? That when I fall on the Lord, I am broken.
God has let me know that I'm doing His will.
There is beauty in the breaking and the broken.
While my heart aches and my soul longs for trust and safety in my broken marriage and heart, the Lord has shown me truth.
Letting go of control and turning it over to God IS NOT easy, but IT IS what I want to do.
I know now that because my entire world is broken, I AM FALLING ON GOD.
Peace has come, all is well -because all is broken.
Sunday, June 29, 2014
Seen Trials and New Guidelines
I'm truly sick.
Two days ago, I was balled up in a blanket on the couch watching (yet another) version of Jane Eyre and wanting to just disappear.
My surgery date is still pending, but I go in to schedule it on Wednesday. I'm getting rid of my gall bladder because it's not working. I mean: every dang day IT ISN'T WORKING.
But this is common. It happens to lots of people -mostly women.
I know this because I personally know SCADS OF WOMEN walking around without gall bladders. Factor in those I don't know? Sheesh. Gall bladder issues are rampant, folks.
The great thing about it is I can hop onto facebook and get great answers and advice in seconds. The unprecedented great thing about it? People show up.
My visiting teacher brought food TWICE. Children are picked up and whisked away. Phone calls, texts... I didn't realize that would happen when I asked for quick, "what do you do before having a knife stuck in you?" advice online.
Being sick has deepened my depression. When I can't do anything or think clearly, I just sink.
I'm so grateful for seen trials. So grateful.
Seen trials bring pure love to your doorstep.
We live in a wonderful age where we can talk about bodily gas out loud, online, over the phone... and we're all pretty much okay with it. We can say things like, "hey, make sure you abuse stool softeners two days before the surgery" and laugh ourselves silly.
Years ago, that wasn't the case.
Years ago, you didn't talk about stuff like that. It was only to be handled behind closed doors.
I hold on to the hope that someday in the future porn addiction can be and will be talked about and addressed as openly as dead gall bladders.
Someday... maybe porn addiction will be a seen trial.
Now if you'll excuse me, I've got some Wal-Mart brand Slim Fast to nurse.
Want some too? Tea time tomorrow at 2? Anyone? Anyone? I promise probably not to fall asleep.
Two days ago, I was balled up in a blanket on the couch watching (yet another) version of Jane Eyre and wanting to just disappear.
My surgery date is still pending, but I go in to schedule it on Wednesday. I'm getting rid of my gall bladder because it's not working. I mean: every dang day IT ISN'T WORKING.
But this is common. It happens to lots of people -mostly women.
I know this because I personally know SCADS OF WOMEN walking around without gall bladders. Factor in those I don't know? Sheesh. Gall bladder issues are rampant, folks.
The great thing about it is I can hop onto facebook and get great answers and advice in seconds. The unprecedented great thing about it? People show up.
My visiting teacher brought food TWICE. Children are picked up and whisked away. Phone calls, texts... I didn't realize that would happen when I asked for quick, "what do you do before having a knife stuck in you?" advice online.
Being sick has deepened my depression. When I can't do anything or think clearly, I just sink.
I'm so grateful for seen trials. So grateful.
Seen trials bring pure love to your doorstep.
We live in a wonderful age where we can talk about bodily gas out loud, online, over the phone... and we're all pretty much okay with it. We can say things like, "hey, make sure you abuse stool softeners two days before the surgery" and laugh ourselves silly.
Years ago, that wasn't the case.
Years ago, you didn't talk about stuff like that. It was only to be handled behind closed doors.
I hold on to the hope that someday in the future porn addiction can be and will be talked about and addressed as openly as dead gall bladders.
Someday... maybe porn addiction will be a seen trial.
As awareness of it grows, the church has come out with new guidelines which I haven't fully read yet (I've read #1,2, and 11 so far).
So far it seems wonderful. No replacement for my 12-steps, but a wonderful resource.
Now if you'll excuse me, I've got some Wal-Mart brand Slim Fast to nurse.
Want some too? Tea time tomorrow at 2? Anyone? Anyone? I promise probably not to fall asleep.
Tuesday, June 24, 2014
Are We Human?
This last week I had such an awkward trigger.
You know what my triggers are like? They're little events that flip on a little switch that illuminate an ENTIRE ROOM FULL of related bologna.
After I double-sneezed a few days ago, my 5 year old son raised his eyebrows, "Mom, do you have issues?"
Yes, son. But you'll learn more about that when I pay for your therapy in 15 or 20 years.
I want so desperately to feel safe in my marriage. I want so desperately to feel safe... period. I don't want to stifle my hunger for safety and security because I believe it's natural and wonderful to need it. A life without that desire seems kind of, well, scary and cold and something that creeps in the alley of a Tim Burton film.
The thing is: when I'm around other men I feel safe with, my brain takes hold and goes to places I seriously hate... I hate that they're there, I hate that I feel them, I hate that I GO TO THEM.
I just kneel and say, "God, I have these feelings where I WANT safety with this person, and I ended up listening to that old song and facebook searching for that old boyfriend, and although I hate that I'm feeling and thinking these things, the fact of the matter is... I AM."
I then call my sponsor who says, "You're human."
HUMAN.
What a thing to be.
I can deny it all I want, but at the end of the day -no matter what mirror I'm looking in -I'm human. I'm a hurt human, a funny human, a human who hurts other humans, a flawed human, a lovely human with lovely imperfections, a human with needs.
And I need safety.
My body needs safety.
My brain, my soul, my ME needs security.
I can find it all when I turn myself over to God which is both exhilarating and terrifying, one of those "so glad I did it even though I didn't want to" kind of experiences.
Like cliff jumping?
You know what my triggers are like? They're little events that flip on a little switch that illuminate an ENTIRE ROOM FULL of related bologna.
After I double-sneezed a few days ago, my 5 year old son raised his eyebrows, "Mom, do you have issues?"
Yes, son. But you'll learn more about that when I pay for your therapy in 15 or 20 years.
I want so desperately to feel safe in my marriage. I want so desperately to feel safe... period. I don't want to stifle my hunger for safety and security because I believe it's natural and wonderful to need it. A life without that desire seems kind of, well, scary and cold and something that creeps in the alley of a Tim Burton film.
The thing is: when I'm around other men I feel safe with, my brain takes hold and goes to places I seriously hate... I hate that they're there, I hate that I feel them, I hate that I GO TO THEM.
I just kneel and say, "God, I have these feelings where I WANT safety with this person, and I ended up listening to that old song and facebook searching for that old boyfriend, and although I hate that I'm feeling and thinking these things, the fact of the matter is... I AM."
I then call my sponsor who says, "You're human."
HUMAN.
What a thing to be.
I can deny it all I want, but at the end of the day -no matter what mirror I'm looking in -I'm human. I'm a hurt human, a funny human, a human who hurts other humans, a flawed human, a lovely human with lovely imperfections, a human with needs.
And I need safety.
My body needs safety.
My brain, my soul, my ME needs security.
I can find it all when I turn myself over to God which is both exhilarating and terrifying, one of those "so glad I did it even though I didn't want to" kind of experiences.
Like cliff jumping?
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