Checking In

A few recent events have brought me back to this space, to write about how I’m feeling and how I’m trying to live.  I’ve had some thoughts swirling in my brain lately, after we made a big move back to the United States, spent two months in transition, and Pete acted out again after a really wonderful six months of sobriety.  I’m feeling compassion for him, transitions are so hard, losing his support system and dealing with the stresses of his work life, while trying to get our family settled, is bound to take its toll.  But I’m also feeling disappointed, frustrated and anxious about it all. 

It’s much easier to live in emotional and mental health when Pete is doing the same.  When we both take care of our stuff our relationship thrives, and it is so fulfilling.  But when one of us starts to lose our grip, it’s hard for the other one to hold steady.  And this morning something clicked in my brain.  To my friend[s] who have tried to explain this to me and I wasn’t understanding, I apologize, because I think I’m catching on.

I thought that recovering from co-dependency meant that my happiness would not be dependent on other people’s behavior.  Today, that seems like an impossible, and even not desirable goal.  When I’m emotionally connected to someone I love, there are going to be things they say or do that cause me to feel sadness.  Sadness is not happiness.  I used to believe that detachment meant, severing the emotional connection so that I DIDN’T feel sad when they said or did hurtful things. 

The word serenity, that I hear so often in recovery, is all of the sudden much more meaningful to me.  It’s not my happiness I need to protect, I’ve mentioned before that I don’t personally believe happiness should be the object of my existence. I understand how beneficial other feelings can be to my human experience.  It’s my serenity I want to protect. My peace. My contentment. My ability to not go to my crazy place during the midst of my sadness, disappointment, hurt and even fear. 

So what was working for me during the last six months? Well for starters Pete’s sobriety and his serenity were working for me. (Tongue and cheek, insert squinty-eye-emoji.)  But my number one tool for feeling my own peace is acceptance.  And I could probably write an entire post just about acceptance, and my evolution from hating that word to embracing it.  I’m trying each day to get present in my reality, and then make the most of it.  

While I sit in this sadness, and accept the hurt that inevitably comes from being emotionally connected to people, I’m hoping I can stay connected to God, practice gratitude and keep some serenity. 

  

Living in Recovery

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I'm not really sure of what draws me to this writing space and why, but I've been drawn here again lately and so I've come.

I've been thinking about what my life looks like these days, as it relates to the way I cope with Pete's addiction, and I've realized that "recovery" has become a way of life for me.  But it's so much bigger than Pete's addiction.

In the course of my life I accumulated a set of habits, behaviors, false beliefs and fears that stood as obstacles to living a life of contentment, happiness, gratitude and safety.  All these things were exacerbated by Pete's addiction, my trauma and my pain.  These "things" include my ideas about how other people's behavior effects me, my fears and shame about my marriage, my frustrations with other family relationships, my suffering self-esteem, my beliefs about feelings and boundaries- all combined with the behaviors I adopted to try to feel some sense of control and to protect myself from any kind of vulnerability.

Eventually, at the peak of Pete's addiction and my dysfunction it became too much to bear.  It's always been easy to blame Pete's addiction, and certainly the betrayal and hurt contributed to my despair, but these "things" have always been there, lurking under the surface, and the crisis of the addiction just opened the closet door for them to all come pouring out.

My life now consists of doing what I can to help me cope with these behaviors, beliefs and fears. This of course includes coping with Pete's ongoing addiction-related problems, but it's also so much broader.  So what does it look like for me?

It is having a therapist that I trust, that I can be honest with, that holds me accountable and that is gentle and compassionate with me.  It is participating in Al-Anon, because the 12 steps work for me. It is deliberately and consciously staying self-aware, despite how uncomfortable awareness can be at times.  It is self-care and boundaries and acceptance.  It is work.  Really.

The last 18 months have had some seriously intense moments where I've fallen off the wagon so to speak, and allowed myself to pretend and deny that I have any need for "recovery."  I'm just such a work in progress, never really feeling like I master anything, and even my therapist teases me that "we've talked about this before Jane..."  But that's just the reality of me, my life, and my "things."  And today, I'm mostly okay with it.

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I've been writing on this blog for a few years now and I have no idea if the any of the same people from the beginning still read it.  Are you still dealing with your husband's addiction? Have you "moved on"? Do you find that you have "things" that stand in your way of peace and self-confidence? What has recovery evolved into for you?

Thoughts on Religion

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I’m LDS (Mormon) which I think has been pretty obvious on my blog.  Over the years I’ve tried to write in a way that most WoPAs could relate to, but my religion has been a big part of my recovery.  Sadly, there have been occasional (for me) and frequent (for others) situations and moments where I have felt let down by my religion.  I’ve felt like the organization that was meant to support and lift me failed to live up to those roles.  This has been painful.  I’ve felt a frustration about how exactly God works, and why he wasn’t/isn’t intervening in a way that could be more helpful to individuals like myself, Pete, and other WOPA women and addicts.  I still don’t understand this.  I have also felt personally hurt by church leaders and by other church members and the ideas and methods by which they preach and live. 

On Sunday Pete did something that felt like a step away from the church.  He denies that it was, and he likely knows his own intentions better than I do, but it felt like that to me.  It shook me up more than I expected, especially in light of my own struggles with some church dogma.  It scared me. 

I have friends who are leaving, who have left, who no longer relate to the LDS church and I’ll be completely honest here and say that this has shaken me too. 

I know that I’m upset by these things because of my own fears and insecurities about my worth and my faith.  My inability to accept myself makes it difficult for me to accept others.  But the truth is, I still love Pete, and I love and respect my friends so much. 

The past two months have brought a heavy depression for me, most likely related to pregnancy.  I’m trying different things to cope with these burdensome feelings of loneliness and despair, and in desperation I went to the temple on Saturday.  I wish I could say that it was a profoundly spiritual experience for me, and that I found clarity and courage.  I didn’t.  But I did have a realization. 

One of the women I went with, I’ll call her Kate, is from the West Indies.  She sometimes wears a traditional head scarf, a cultural nod to her heritage.  It’s a tight wrap around her hair, and she looks lovely in it.   She told me once that leaders of the church have asked her not to wear it in church, but she kindly refused to acquiesce and she was wearing it Saturday at the temple. 

Kate had explained to me before that her belief in the gospel isn’t related to the people who administer the church.  She had no problem recognizing when they were asking her to do something that had no doctrinal basis.   Her deep longing to be a part of the church is related to her belief in its teachings; a Savior, an atonement, grace, a direct link to God via personal revelation, concepts like forgiveness and mercy.  To this list I would add my own personal connections to gospel teachings; a moral obligation to my fellow-man, sisterhood and service, unpaid clergy, the divinity of the human body, the sanctity of sexual intimacy, relationships and existence beyond death, personal sacrifice, integrity, honesty, humility and the power of motherhood. 

I understand that a belief in gospel teachings might not be enough to maintain the commitments the church seems to require, and to overcome the personal hurt and offense that church leaders and members inevitably cause.  When I’m seeing clearly I can see how for many people it hasn’t been enough, and I get it.  I can also see that if I don’t find something else to hold on to as my personal faith relates to my religion, I probably won’t have the strength to keep going on within it. 

I can’t reconcile many things about my religion, and I wish that it offered me more clear answers.  I wish I had more faith in God, and that I could have more trust that He would answer my questions if I ask. I wish I could more easily believe that He is involved in my life.  But that kind of faith eludes me, for whatever reason.

This is where I am.  This is who I am.  This is my effort at personal acceptance and also acceptance of others.  This is where I nurture love for both the people who criticize my faith and those who self-righteously defend it.  This blog has always been my safe place for writing, and I came here to share these thoughts because my depression has made me completely terrified of sharing my thoughts anywhere else.  Thank you for being the most loving and non-judgmental community I’ve ever encountered.  

Fear of Crappy Emotions

**My writing on this blog is so sporadic.  But I'm so grateful for my little space here, and for the little community of women who share it with me.  Thanks.

Buy this print here. 

June B left a comment on my last blog post that called me out a bit.  She didn't mean to, I'm sure her question was genuine.  But she struck at something that surfaces in my therapy a lot.  And that is my undying devotion to the avoidance of what June referred to as "crappy emotions."

I do a lot of things to avoid uncomfortable circumstances which can result in uncomfortable feelings. Sometimes I refrain from sharing my thoughts with Pete, because I am worried he will get defensive or I won't be heard.  Sometimes I hide parts of my identity, things about who I am, because I fear disapproval.  There are so many social experiences I miss out on for fear of rejection.  Even just making a phone call to get a babysitter sometimes isn't worth the risk I take that the babysitter will turn me down.

A few weeks ago we were traveling as a family and Pete and I had a conversation where I shared some of my feelings and it didn't go well.  I didn't get the empathy and understanding I was looking for, which resulted in some resentments and frustration on my part.  I decided that it just wasn't worth it to share my feelings.  What was the point?  It would be better to just keep them inside rather than take the chance that they wouldn't elicit the response I wanted.

I was discussing this with my therapist and he said to me

"Just because it didn't go well, doesn't mean you did it wrong.

Things are gonna go badly sometimes.  Conversations are going to result in hurt feelings and disappointment sometimes.  But why not give it a chance? Give Pete the chance to hear you and understand you.  I believe in you, and I believe that when it doesn't go well, you are capable of coping and feeling and getting through the disappointment."

What are crappy emotions that they must be avoided anyway? They are just guests at the party. Part of life's experiences. And not only that, but sadness consistently brings me closer to compassion, and out of pain grows empathy.

June asked, Will I ever get to a point of long-term consistent contentment and happiness?

Here's what I think. I think the course of my life is going to include crappy emotions.  But it is going to include happiness as well.  With the help of God and wise friends (and a good therapist!) I can navigate my way through it all.  Fearing and avoiding crappy emotions is not only an impossible task, but a confining one.  It's a classic risk-reward paradigm.  If I'm never willing to share my feelings, exhibit my true self, and participate socially - I'll never have the reward of a vulnerable conversation with my husband, feel loved for who I really am, and enjoy creating and nurturing meaningful relationships.

June I hope for both of us that our periods of happiness will be lengthy, and that we can learn how to lay a foundation of peace that will sustain us through the crappy emotions we will inevitably face.

Qualifying My Happiness

Click here for some other really cheery rainbow photos. 

There are a few blogs I read that seem to be all sunshine and roses.  Occasionally the blog author will confess to a disappointment or a bad day, but then it seems they always qualify their negative experience with the words

“But then...”

For example.  “What an awful day, the kids were so naughty and I forgot my appointment and our dishwasher broke.  But then… my amazing husband showed up with Chinese take-out and a dozen roses.”

I feel like on my blog here, it’s a bit more dark clouds and noxious weeds, and occasionally I confess to moments of pleasure, but then I feel obligated to qualify them with “but then… my toddler pooped in his underwear and my husband acted out.”

I’m not quite sure at what point I began to feel ashamed of happiness.  But it seems that now, I’ve spent so much time in self-pity that I’m not sure how to enjoy happiness.  I don’t subscribe to the belief that happiness is the end-all, be-all object of my existence. Rather, I think sorrow and other non-happy feelings are meant to be part of our mortal experience, as teachers.  But as I’ve come to really accept anger and grief as guests at my table, I think I’ve left little room for happiness.

Who am I to be happy anyway? I’m the despairing wife of the sex addict, it is my identity and my role.  I am meant to forever be the pitiable victim.  And yet, even in my moments of martyrdom where I square my shoulders and accept that my circumstances simply are what they are, I’m still not quite feeling real happiness, but reluctant consignment.

Pete and I were discussing last night how this part of our lives can get so bogged down in the negative.  He was saying how his sponsor probably thinks his children are demons because all he ever says about them are his resentments.  And it’s true, I never think to call my sponsor when I’m basking in sunshine and my heart is filled with bliss.  I think to call her when I’m pissed or when I’ve been hurt or when things go wrong.

Lately I’ve been experiencing moments of real happiness.  I really love the place where I am living.  I really enjoy the ages of my children and their blossoming personalities. Even Pete and I are finding some common ground again to try to rebuild a relationship.

And yet each time I feel these feelings of gratitude and joy, I feel something pulling me back, telling me to hedge my bet or keep it to myself.  It’s almost as if I’ve forgotten how to be happy.  I've come a long way in learning how to sit comfortably in sadness.  So why can't I sit comfortably in happiness?

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Post Edit:  As I've thought about this, it has occurred to me that I've spent a lot of my life faking happiness, and now to feel the things I've pretended to feel makes me a little uneasy.  Is it real? Am I being authentic?

Can anyone else relate?

Is Your Husband Still Using?!

When I find myself obsessing about Pete's addiction there is a question I'm dying to ask all my WoPA friends. I want to call them up, spreadsheet at hand, and ask them all 

When was the last time your husband looked at porn?  And when was the time before that?

You know that feeling, when you're thinking that if you could just get your questions answered you would surely feel better about life?  If I could just hear that other husbands were still relapsing, surely I would find acceptance and peace.  

Fortunately I've made some progress and I don't obsess about Pete's addiction too often.  But Pete is still relapsing.  Sometimes he is sober for a few days, sometimes a few weeks, and other times he can go months without acting out.  

And here I am, still learning lessons about how I am powerless over Pete's addiction.  About how I can. not. make. him. change.  No matter how subtle I get in my codependency.  Last night I asked my therapist if I needed sobriety in my marriage.  He told me that he couldn't answer that, I would have to decide for myself.  To which I responded 

"I think I'm going to decide I need it."  

"Okay Jane.  But just remember, that if you need sobriety in your marriage, you might have to leave your marriage.  Because you are not getting it."  

Immediately I saw what I was doing.  I was giving myself another shot at changing Pete.  I was thinking-  If I tell Pete that I need sobriety in our marriage, then he'll have to get sober.  By golly THAT will be the thing that will make him sober. But it won't.  

In Al-Anon they teach that relationships can exist when the addict is still using.  This is really difficult for me.  But I'm exploring it.  It looks like this: 

Old boundary: If Pete acts out we don't have sex for one week. 

New boundary:  If I don't feel present and connected with Pete, I decline sexual advances. 

Old boundary: If Pete is acting like an addict, I emotionally and physically detach. 

New boundary: If Pete is unpleasant, unkind or grumpy, I don't need to be around him.  I can make my own plans, do my own thing.  

Old boundary: If Pete has a relapse, he sleeps in another room. 

New boundary: If Pete has a relapse and I feel upset, I practice self-care.  

This new way of having a relationship with Pete is terrifying and liberating at the same time.  It's terrifying because I am relinquishing so much [artificial/percieved] control.  But it's liberating because  I don't have to analyze his behavior looking for signs of recovery or addiction.  I just go with my gut, use my feelings to gauge how much I can trust and connect, and go with it. 

It doesn't mean that I approve of Pete using porn.  It doesn't mean that I'm in denial about his addiction.  It just means that I'm accepting my reality. I'm making a deliberate choice about having a relationship with my husband that is vulnerable and has inherent risk.  And I'm honest about how I can not manage his behavior.  

My Foes

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There is a hymn I've always loved.  Since I was a teenager I've always felt STRONG when I sing it.  Often the pianist will slow it down for the last first, and let the congregation really feel it as they sing

That soul that on Jesus hath leaned for repose, 
I will not, I can not, desert to [her] foes. 
That soul, though all hell should endeavor to shake
I'll never, no never, no never forsake. 

But I couldn't ever really figure out who my foes were.  I don't really have any real enemies to speak of. I'm certainly not fighting any kind of literal war.  So when God has my back, who does He have my back against?

The past couple months have had me reeling in self-doubt. I'm not sure where it came from, but all of the sudden I became painfully aware of my shriveled and suffering self-worth.  One day as I was walking, and listening to this hymn, it occurred to me that in my life, my foes aren't any awful people that prevent me from loving my life and myself. My foes are the voices in my head that tell me that I'm not okay the way I am.  The voice that tells me to be embarrassed of what I have, or don't have.  The voice that tells me to hide parts of myself around certain people.  The voice that tells me I need to change before I can be acceptable.  The voices that constantly over-think and over-analyze something as simple as a comment on Facebook or a message sent on Voxer.  Those voices are my own personal enemies.

And I started to cry, walking down the bustling streets of my city.  Why is self-esteem so elusive? My goodness it teases me!

Accepting myself, loving myself, sharing myself with confidence has become the object of my existence for the last few weeks.

On a somewhat related note, for International Women's Day some friends and I recited [most of] this poem in an assembly at our children's school.  It is so beautiful.

You may write me down in history
With your bitter, twisted lies,
You may tread me in the very dirt
But still, like dust, I'll rise.

Just like moons and like suns,
With the certainty of tides,
Just like hopes springing high,
Still I'll rise.

Did you want to see me broken? 
Bowed head and lowered eyes? 
Shoulders falling down like teardrops.
Weakened by my soulful cries.

You may shoot me with your words,
You may cut me with your eyes,
You may kill me with your hatefulness,
But still, like air, I'll rise.

Out of the huts of history's shame
I rise
Up from a past that's rooted in pain
I rise
Leaving behind nights of terror and fear
I rise
Into a daybreak that's wondrously clear
I rise
I rise
I rise. 

(Still I Rise  - Maya Angelou.  Read the entire poem or hear it read, here.)

Gratitude crashes the Pity Party

A couple weeks ago during that therapy appointment where I was so angry about my "illness" my therapist asked me if I was feeling any gratitude about it, or around it.  I think I looked at him like he was the crazy one.

"No."  I said, emphatically.  He took the hint and backed off that point for the moment and we moved on to something else.  But then later in the week at an Al-Anon meeting a friend said to me

"I just feel so grateful that I live in a time and place where I can get good help and support for my problems."

Wait- did she just say grateful?

Then she compared it to Autism, and how today's autistic children (and adults) have much better resources and more social awareness than past generations.  And hopefully with time, future generations will have even more of those things.  But she was just grateful to have meetings, where she was understood and loved, and literature that helped her feel validated and also helped her cope with and understand her alcoholic.  A little light went on in my head as I started to entertain the idea of gratitude.

The concept of gratitude has been part of recovery since the get-go for me, but I have to admit I often approach it with some reluctance.  Gratitude is a total pity-party crasher, and I love me a good pity party.  I have also felt like gratitude was kind of made-up, giving credit to a Higher Power when maybe some things were just coincidence and didn't deserve any special attention.

But this week my therapist called me out on that.  He talked about how gratitude is a gift of peace we give ourselves, and it isn't any more made up than the things I choose to be angry about, such as blame. Blame is a funny thing.  It's like I have this human instinct to place blame, once I know who's FAULT it is then I can get over it.

I've blamed Pete's parents for a long time, for raising Pete in an environment of shame. Not long ago I had an interesting discussion with some friends about whether we become who we are in spite of our upbringing, or because of our upbringing.  I don't think we can ever really know for sure, but when my therapist told me I could choose gratitude it occurred to me that I could choose to be grateful for Pete's parents. I am grateful for the things they did teach him that have influenced his life and helped mold his character.

In college I learned about fallacies.  Hypothesis contrary to fact is "offering a poorly supported claim about what might have happened in the past or future, if circumstances or conditions were different." (Codependency is a breading ground for hypotheses contrary to facts. If I have more sex with my husband he won't look at porn, for example.) Saying that Pete wouldn't be an addict if his parents had raised him differently is a fallacy.  

My point is- I can make assumptions, speculate and assign blame until the sun goes down and it isn't going to make me feel any better.  Or I can offer myself the gift of gratitude, which inevitably and immediately offers me peace and comfort.  

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So maybe it's time to dust off that damn gratitude journal.  Do you keep a gratitude journal? Does it work for you? 

I'm PISSED About My Illness

I've had a really bad week.  I couldn't put my finger on it, so I was grateful to have a therapy appointment last night.  I have to say, doing therapy on my own couch isn't too shabby.  Sometimes I even wear pajama pants because my appointments are at 10:00 at night and my therapist can only see the top half of me on his computer.

“You have an illness.” He said to me.

I do have an illness.  My illness is a broken brain. Faulty ways of thinking.  Misleading beliefs.  Its symptoms are a compulsive urge to control, lousy self-esteem, persistent self-doubt and bouts of anxiety.  I learned two important things about my illness while talking with my therapist last night.

1- I’m mad that I’m sick.  I’m PISSED actually.  I’m angry that I am perpetually plagued with feelings of inadequacy. I’m ticked that I feel so emotionally fragile. And I’m so damn frustrated that I can’t stop trying to control people and things.

2- My illness is not my fault.  But it seems to me like it is.  It seems to me that if I were better at recovery, if I were more clever, if I were less needy – then I wouldn't be so sick.  But no.

“You’re illness came with you.” He tells me.

It’s as much a part of me as my blue eyes and my long toes.  My illness was influenced by my upbringing just like my personality and sense of humor have been influenced.  But I didn't earn my illness.  Which means I can’t un-earn it by being more clever and less needy.

It also means that my illness wasn't caused by Pete’s addiction.  My illness is no more his fault, than his addiction is my fault.  Yes, his addiction has exasperated my symptoms.  But just as certainly, my illness has exasperated his symptoms too.

It’s like getting strep for the third time in the same winter and being so pissed about it.  But it’s there nonetheless.  And all you can do is see a professional and take care of yourself.  So that’s my game plan.

I have an illness.  I’m pissed about it.  But it’s not my fault.

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Disclaimer:  I understand that this language may not resonate with everyone.  And that’s okay.  I use the word illness at the very least, as a metaphorical convenience, at most- a statement of fact. An unhealthy condition of the body or mind. I don’t mean to sound critical of myself, or make it seem like I am damaged or inferior. Rather, I feel like this perspective is a liberating and compassionate way of viewing my messy self.  And the first step in accepting my messy self.  I imagine it is a similar experience for someone acknowledging the presence of chronic depression.  It sucks.  But it’s there. And depression doesn't make anyone damaged or inferior, because depression is an illness too.

Conditional Love

This morning as I was walking home from my children's school, I was stewing.  Just to give you a brief update -

I've been relearning about codependency, I've been attending Al-Anon and Skyping with my therapist.  I've been discovering loving detachment, and trying really hard not to totally check out of my marriage.  Things seemed to be looking up.  Pete has been helpful and responsive and we have spent quality time together.  But he is still an emotionally closed book, and refuses to share with me anything regarding his addiction or recovery.  

The other night he said some more hurtful things.  And I felt like I handled it well.  I didn't trigger into a pathetic, sobbing mess on the floor.  I listened, and then offered my best love and committment to him.  The next day I felt really good about maintaining some sanity, until he came home.  And then I couldn't handle it.  Anger and hurt bubbled up inside of me. I think I was hoping for an apology,  In any case, I had an emotional response.

So this morning I've been stewing, and as I was walking along, some advice I have given to multiple people hit me like a face-palm.  (This is yet another reason I try not to give advice.)

You don't treat people with kindness and love to get something from them.  Because some people will never give you what you are longing for.  You treat people with love and kindness because it is the best way to feel good about yourself.  

Love, kindness and forgiveness are my moral code.  And I'm most likely to maintain contentment in my life when I live in line with my moral code.

I think I've tried a dozen different, unhealthy ways to try and elicit empathy and compassion from Pete, with no success.  I know there is a compassionate person inside of him, I've seen it.  But there is absolutely nothing I can do to force it out.

Choosing to offer him love and compassion is a choice I make with no strings attached, no expectations, no emotional ties to outcomes.  Just a gift of love that I can give when I am emotionally strong enough to give it.  Which, I'm not sure if I am, today.

Getting Well

Saatchi Online Gallery, KwangHo Shin

I just want to straight up own something.  I have not been healthy. I have watched pathetically as I've seen Pete slip out of recovery all the while I was slipping out of recovery.  I'm not sure how or why it happened, I seriously thought I knew better, but all of the sudden I found myself in an emotional and mental frenzy.  My composure, my happiness, even my ability to function day to day was totally entangled with the behavior of other people.  Call it what you want, but I am just going to call it codependency.

I know not everyone relates to that, but it's real to me.  Not every person who drinks alcohol is an alcoholic, and not every person married to an addict is a codependent.  But I am.  And giving it a name gives me such a sense of relief, that now I know what I'm dealing with.

Addiction is a family disease, and I think that means that living with an addict is likely to make family members sick. Mentally, emotionally, spiritually and even physically unhealthy.

I love and believe in betrayal trauma.  It is validating and compassionate and kind.  But I can't stay there forever or else I will perpetually be justified in my victim-hood.  Self-pity is a character defect for me, it incapacitates me.  My goal isn't to be uninfluenced by those around me, in particular those I love.  My goal is to be able to FUNCTION within the feelings that will naturally come with my relationships.  Hurt and disappointment will inevitably be a part of my existence. I just want to be strong enough to cope with them.

During and after the Al-Anon meeting when the fog was lifting from my head a little bit I could see how unhealthy I had been.  I was STILL trying to control Pete, I am much more subtle these days but I allowed myself to become preoccupied with his recovery or lack thereof.  My mother-in-law recently visited and looking back I can see how I totally engaged in the drama triangle with her.  I let her behavior ruin my mood, sometimes my day, and even my experiences.  Sometimes just parts of her personality made me feel nasty inside. I was consistently resenting her, resenting my circumstances, wanting so badly for things that I can't control to be different.  The serenity prayer feels so cliche to me now, but isn't it just so TRUE?

I can't live in anger forever, willing my anger to change things I can not change.  I don't want to be endlessly confused about what I can control or influence and what I can not.  And I especially don't want to live in fear.  Fear of what people will think of me.  Fear of having porn addiction in my life forever.  Fear of being hurt.

It's from this slightly healthier place that I'm making my blog public again.  I know that making it private was in part a punishment to Pete, a form of manipulation.  It was also based in fear, that what I wrote would make him more unwell.  Unfortunately some of the things I wrote came from my broken brain, but that's okay. I'll leave them as they are.

I talked to him this morning and told him that whatever I write here is what it is.  And it needs to be his responsibility to decide whether or nor to read it, and what to do with the feelings it gives him if he does read it.

So that's that. Sorry for my drama.  Hopefully I'm back on the path to sanity, serenity and contentment.  

Perspective

I actually took these photos. Isn't that crazy? I was actually in Paris! 

I went to an Al-Anon meeting last Saturday.  It's almost funny.  If you would have asked the 16 year old me, or the 20 year old me, or even the 30 year old me, if I ever imagined myself at an Al-Anon meeting I would have been completely bewildered by the question.

For some reason accepting that my husband is a sex addict happened so gradually that I guess there was never a drastic moment where I was shocked to find myself at a 12 step meeting.  But there aren't really any 12 step meetings in the city where I'm living, besides Al-Anon, so per my therapist's suggestions, Al-Anon it was.  (No, Pete has not taken up drinking as far as I know...)

That meeting drastically changed my trajectory.  It was so amazing. I got weepy from the moment I walked in, from the courage and vulnerability of everyone in that room, the utter, unapologetic honesty and the compassion that made me feel like I was high.  (Ironic, huh?)

The things that were shared, the reminders of ideas and concepts I've learned and then neglected, it felt like home and it was so wonderful.  It really is a sacred space, and for all the joking that goes on in t.v. and film about 12 step meetings, it is a remarkable place, that can only be understood by the those who have lived a rock bottom and then discovered acceptance, validation and liberation.

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A few weeks ago I was in Paris.  As we approached the Eiffel Tower Pete and I remarked about the park landscape.  Why there was grass there, and not here... silly things.  We waited in line and rode the elevator to the top with our children.

The first stop is the first viewing deck. It's high, for sure, and from there I could see the pattern of the landscape in the park.

"Ohhhh! I get it.  It makes sense from up here.  There is a design that can't be fully appreciated from ground level."

Then we took the lift to the upper viewing deck.  From 1,000 feet up everything was even more orderly.  Building complexes, street patterns, city archicture, landscape design,  It all made so much more sense from up there.

***********

Al-Anon was like a ride in the elevator for me.  I could look back on the last few weeks, and even months, with better clarity and perspective.

Oh I see... THAT is why I felt that why... Of course- no wonder this was happening...  There is definitely a pattern there...

And then I can trust; trust in a grand design.  An even Higher Power, with an even broader perspective.  There is so much that doesn't make sense from down here.  But I know, I KNOW there is a better way to live than obsessing about why things aren't the way I would make them if I really could control and manage.

And the view really is beautiful when I get the space I need to see it.  And I feel relief.  And I feel hope.  And I feel loved and adequate and strong again.

The Balm of A Good Therapist

I had a therapy appointment last night with my therapist from back home, via Skype.  It was so good. He offers a great blend of empathy, knowledge and humor that keeps me from taking myself too seriously, which I'm likely to do in therapy.

My primary goal from the sesssion was to hear him tell me I'm not crazy, and I'm not over-reacting. About 47 minutes into our conversation he hadn't said those things yet.  So finally I just asked him

"Why won't you just TELL me I'm not crazy?"

He chuckled and then got straight with me.

"Because I'm afraid that if I tell you, you won't do the work to figure it out yourself."

Recovery, wellness, healing, mental health.  It's like a bank account he explained to me.  When I "do the work" of self-care, therapy, support groups, study, meditation, etc, I am making deposits in my bank account, and together Pete and I make deposits in our marital account.  Then when a crisis comes along we can take out a withdrawal, NBD.

When we moved here, to our new home, our life was simple and lovely.  Our first few weeks here were like a holiday where we spent time together, there were no demands for our time, and his company was giving us a daily monetary cash flow.  We were virtually stress free.  Our simple life required no withdrawals of our "wellness" bank account.  But we made no deposits either.  We didn't go to meetings or have therapy appointments, we saw no need.  We were happy.

Then Pete went back to work.  I got lonely.  He got stressed.  Culture shock.  Homesickness.

Withdrawal. Withdrawal.  Withdrawal.

I could see the writing on the wall, the account was emptying fast. I asked Pete to make some deposits, but he wasn't willing and I didn't make any myself.  Until the next thing I knew I was so emotionally bankrupt that I think I hit another rock bottom of powerlessness all over again a few nights ago.

Last night my therapist pointed out that I'm trying to manage Pete's recovery again - which of course is unmanageable.  But I'm also trying to manage Pete's perception of me.  Which is, also unmanageable.

"I've seen you when you are happy Jane, and I can see you are not happy.  But I know you know how to be happy, or at least at peace, even when Pete is in his addiction.  Let's get you there again."

Feelings Aren't Fact

On my good day (you'll notice that I only mention one good day) I had a realization, with the help of friends.

In recovery I always hear the phrase "feelings are not facts."  This phrase is helpful to me when I find myself in a funk, and I can use it as a reminder.  When I feel like I'm alone.  When I feel like a failure. When I feel hopeless.  When I feel like life is just too hard.  I can remind myself that these are feelings, and they are not facts.  This doesn't mean that they don't feel very real to me or that they cease to be painful, but that they aren't my truth.  And then I can sort through them, find truth, and cling to it.

Well I realized that Pete's feelings aren't facts either.  The things he shared with me are the way he feels, not actual reality.  But his feelings are as real to him as mine are to me.  I can look at his feelings and see how they are not true- he feels like I assault his character.  He feels like my behavior is making his life miserable.  And I can take comfort that his feelings aren't facts.  What I can't do, is convince him that his feelings aren't based in truth.  I can't take responsibility for it, and I can't even do it out of love.  He has to sort through his feelings on his own, and figure out where truth is, and then cling to it.

Pete's feelings are very real to him.  This doesn't mean they are true.  And it doesn't mean they aren't going to be hurtful to me.

Set Free

The morning after Pete unloaded on me I woke up feeling really good.  In many ways I felt like a big burden had been lifted from me.  Like I was cut loose from the chains that connected us.  He was breaking free from me and it felt good to let him go!

I think Pete did need to break free from me.  I think he did it in a really cruel way, by being dishonest with himself about me.  I think he is disconnected from reality, which is likely the result of his addiction and other things like depression and stress.  As a result he sees himself as a victim, me the perpetrator, and he sees the circumstances of his happiness and something beyond his control.

But by detaching from me I feel like he frees me from that responsibility, maybe even in his own mind.  I am hopeful that now, on his own, he can take responsibility for his own happiness.  This was something I discovered in my own experience.  Last year when I detached I stopped asking for him for anything.  I didn't ask for help with the kids, or mowing the lawn and I was even able to use my own income so that I didn't have to ask for money when I wanted it.  It was so good for me to have that independence, to realize how much I was capable of, to take responsibility for my own happiness.  And it all felt really good. It felt good to do things for myself, to be responsible and to show up.  It felt good to stop being the victim.

This may or may not happen for Pete, but for some reason I spent that whole day feeling like all that pressure to handle things the right way, the feeling that he was watching and internalizing my every move, and the feeling that I was responsible for his feelings, it was gone.  It all disappeared when he blamed me the way he did. It's like he was leaning on me for so long, desperate for my love and acceptance, always believing that it would bring him happiness. But in rejecting me for the way he perceives I have treated him, he set me free. As if to say "You are are not working out for me. I'm done with you." To which I was responding

"FINE! That's fantastic! I don't want your passwords and I don't want your check-ins, I don't even want your feelings."

I know it sounds spiteful, and it was a bit, but it was also incredibly liberating.

It's all MY fault of course

by Lord Leighton- a current favorite of mine

After I told Pete that the cruel things he says to me are as painful as if he had hit me, he got really angry.  We didn't talk for a few days.  Then he sat me down a couple nights ago and said the following things.

He is not happy in our marriage, that for the last 3-4 years he has been getting deeper and deeper into a dark and awful place, and even though he knows he has made some bad choices, it is because of me that he is full of self-loathing and shame.

He said the way I continually disrespect him is not what God wants for him, and that as he looks back over the years he doesn't think he has been emotionally abusive or even reckless with my feelings.

He says my regular assaults on his character are dramatized and over-reactions and he can't be in a relationship with someone who treats him that way.

He says he can no longer and will no longer tell me anything about his recovery, he asked me to disable the restrictions on his phone so that I am completely uninvolved.

He said he has a perpetual knot in his stomach because of the way I demean him and blame everything on his addiction.

He said that no matter how hard he tries, it is never good enough for me.  

I listened to him, and I actually felt calm.  His demeanor was reasonable, collected and deliberate.  (He didn't seem crazy at all, which makes it all the more confusing when I look back on it later, because one of us is crazy, and if it's not him, it's me, right?)  He said it all and then when he was done he asked if I had anything to say.  I told him I wasn't exactly clear on what he was asking of me but to let me know if he needed any boundaries and I would respect them.  

I walked away, and then all my doubts started flooding my brain. 

Am I over-reacting? Do I keep making things a bigger deal than they are? Do I assualt his character? Have I taken his blame too personally? Am I destroying our marriage? 

Fortunately I've worked through these things before and I have good friends to talk me down.  So I gradually talked myself through his arguments. 

1- In the last 3-4 years there have been really good times, when Pete was in recovery and we were both willingly working toward a healthier relationship.  Pete's life is not all darkness, he has many blessings and beautiful children.  And I am never responsible for his happiness or unhappiness. 

2- Pete has been at the very least, reckless with my feelings, and as far as emotional abuse, I don't want to split hairs.  But he has blamed, manipulated, criticized and lost his temper with me in very hurtful ways.  In the throes of his addiction he is also incapable of empathy and compassion, resulting in more hurtful accusations and a general lack of appreciation for my feelings. 

3- I can not recall assaulting Pete's character.  In the past six months the most I have mentioned about his addiction is my concern about his lack of recovery plan or recovery behaviors/actions.  We have had less than a dozen conversations of this nature, and they consist mostly of me asking him questions about how he is doing/feeling, and then sharing with him my inability to re-establish trust when I don't feel ownership and empathy from him.  

Additionally, it's okay if I don't trust him. It's okay if I am cautious.  That is part of the wreckage of his addiction, and when he is recovery he recognizes that. 

4- I have never insisted on being involved in his recovery, at least not in the last two years. 

5- I have to admit that I do blame many of our marital struggles on his addiction.  It is the root of so much pain for me, which means I have to work hard at forgiveness, trust, vulnerability, etc.  But in the last few months I have spoken very little with him about porn, I have been more concerned with his mental well-being in general, and the way his issues affect me and our family.

6- In order for him to have any credibility when he uses the phrase "no matter how hard I try" I would have to be actually convinced that he was trying.  I've seen him try hard, I've seen him make personal sacrifices of time and pride, I've seen him step out of his comfort zone, I've seen what it looks like when he is trying hard.  And since we moved abroad, I haven't seen much of that at all.  

These are the things I keep reminding myself.  Ever since our "chat" Pete has been Mr. Nice Guy.  Acting like nothing is wrong, treating me like I am a gentle, fragile flower.  It feels so condescending and confusing and it makes me angry, which makes me feel even more like I am the crazy one and he is the reasonable, stable one.  

Why I had to do this.

As I read through your emails yesterday my heart started to grow- just like the Grinch in Dr. Seuss’s Christmas tale.  I think it grew two sizes for each warm, loving and supportive message I received.  Something in my head clicked and I realized that I matter, and that is always a wonderful feeling.  Thank you so much for that during this time where I am feeling like I don’t matter to the one human being that I ought to matter most to. 

When I started my blog I had two purposes-

1      1-  A place to write out my feelings, a journal of sorts. 

2      2- A place where other women could come and feel validated. 

Pete has read my blog more or less since the beginning.  There have been long periods of time when he doesn’t read it, because it triggers him and creates resentments for him, toward me.  When he is healthy he is aware of that, and so he avoids it. 

I don’t know if he reads it now or not- but when he isn’t healthy I’m not comfortable with him reading my innermost thoughts.  I have fears about him using what I write here against me, and when I am unhealthy, I try to protect him from my feelings because I don’t want to upset him or make him angry with me. 

In addition, when I write here I want anyone who reads it to know they are getting the read deal, the raw emotions, the actual feelings, not some sugar-coated, censored post where I tip-toe around to protect Pete’s feelings. 

Right now my communication with my husband is lousy.  We have a truce to not discuss anything related to recovery- which means we aren’t talking about what I write here, which probably isn’t good for us.  I just feel uneasy about him having this back-alley way into my soul. 

So there you have it- if you’re reading, thanks for coming along.  

Private

My dear friends - I really hate doing this, but for the time being I think I need to make this blog private.  I want to continue to write here, but I really want to do it uncensored and without fear. I think you all understand how inconvenient recovery choices can sometimes be, but I feel like this is what I need.

Please don't hesitate to email and I'll send you an invite. (I know that's annoying and sometimes a little uncomfortable. I don't have any delusions about how important I am to anyone else.)  Hopefully I can return to the public realm soon, as it is my nature to be inclusive.

Love to all-

{hisstrugglemystruggle at gmail dot com}

**POST EDIT: Bear with me while I figure this out. I'll wait until tomorrow before I make the switch.

My Core Sample

I love this! 

Earlier this fall, after a fun and adventurous summer, I found myself in a funk of utter loneliness when my kids went back to school. Making friends in this new place hasn't been as easy as I was hoping.  Culture and demographics have been obstacles and for days I found myself desperate for some face to face connection.  I am a woman who NEEDS friendship.  But I came across this quote from poet John O'Donohue and I decided to embrace this lonely time in my life as a chance to discover myself. 

“When you cease to fear your solitude, a new creativity awakens in you. Your forgotten or neglected wealth begins to reveal itself. You come home to yourself and learn to rest within. Thoughts are our inner senses. Infused with silence and solitude, they bring out the mystery of inner landscape.”

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I remember hearing a talk at church when I was in college where the speaker talked about a “core sample”, which is a mining technique where a drill goes into the rock and retrieves a shaft of the stone for scientists to analyze the content of the rock, to determine its value. 

I’ve been thinking about what a core sample of ME would look like.  What am I made of?  What parts of my identity belong to my soul?  What bits of Jane can never be taken away? 

This is what I came up with.  And I would really love it if anyone else wants to join me.  Email me your core sample.  I would love to read it. Discover yourself.  What bits of you will always remain intact even if everything else falls apart?

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My soul is the offspring of a divine Father and Mother, whose love and affections fill me with joy and are manifested in many, or all, of the things that speak to my soul.  My inherent worth comes because of this relationship.  I am entitled to communication and connection with my spiritual creator. 

My soul yearns for connection and love from other humans, wherever I go.  It mourns with the tribulations of those I love and others I’ve never met.  It revels in the joy observed in the lives of others, known and unknown to me.

My body and soul feel most connected when I run and when I practice yoga.  Running empowers me, fills my soul with confidence and strength, and moments of pure glee.

Yoga clears my head, amplifies my spiritual inklings, and gives me peace.

My soul loves Earth and nature.  It cringes with the death of living creatures and it glows with fields and trees.  Rivers are the resting place of my soul.  Sunshine is like helium in a balloon, it inflates and lifts my soul.

My intellect speaks in logic and reason, my soul speaks in faith.

I consider myself a pacifist. I believe I’m incapable of killing. 

I am inspired by music, everything from Enya to Sean Kingston, Yo-Yo Ma, Alicia Keys, Debussy and Journey.

I am kind.  I am free.  I am longing.  I am earnest and sensitive.  I am friendly and accommodating. I am sentimental.

My soul is a travel warrior, ever daydreaming of road trips and international adventures.  I crave new scenery, new cultures, new foods.   

I am capable of overcoming, loving, learning and succeeding.  

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Watch this video and see how Glennon discovered herself. 

And this poem...

A Blessing of Solitude
by John O’Donohue

May you recognize in your life the presence, power and light of your soul.
May you realize that you are never alone,
that your soul in its brightness and belonging connects you
intimately with the rhythm of the universe.
May you have respect for your own individuality and difference.
May you realize that the shape of your soul is unique,
that you have a special destiny here,
that behind the facade of your life there is something
beautiful, good, and eternal happening.
May you learn to see yourself with the same delight, pride,
and expectation with which God sees you in every moment.

Take Two or thirty or 1000 - Part II

Sandro Botticelli 

When I came home from my perilous midnight walk, one hand on my cell phone and one hand on my keys, Pete was waiting for me.  He apologized and said he'd felt awful about how he treated me.

He was genuine and I appreciated the apology.  I've been trying the last few months NOT to detach. Detaching is so instinctive for me, and I've been resisting it because I believe in vulnerability and I want physical and emotional intimacy in my marriage.  

We left on vacation a few days later and I tried to take a couple opportunities to be affectionate and engaged with Pete.  Then one morning we woke up and things felt off.  Some circumstances of our travel had me emotionally raw, and I think I was still feeling a little fragile from the earlier episode.  The whole day was muddled and we were irritable with each other.  That night when we tried to talk about it Pete started spilling out blame and frustrations about me.  At first I trusted my gut- I knew it was addict talk, I KNEW I should walk away, avoid the bait.  But then I bit. I just thought that somehow I could make him see, if I just found the right words I could prove his "unwellness" to him.  It ended badly.  Doesn't it usually?  I said I felt unsafe and he said 

"I hate it when you say that.  It's not like I've ever hit you." 

But he may as well have.  My head was reeling and my heart was pounding and I triggered badly.  

This time, on the bathroom floor of our hotel room I sobbed and prayed.  

"God- all I know how to do is what I've been learned so far.  All I have is the knowledge I've been given.  If I'm doing it wrong please let me know - But I have to get out of his car."  

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I can't quite remember who gets the credit for this analogy- but it's one of my favorites.  

As WoPA we ride along beside our husbands in the car.  He starts to drive like a maniac and we feel afraid, our hearts race and we beg him to slow down, watch the road, act responsibly.  He ignores our pleas, there is anguish in his madness, he is driven by an unseen force.  Then we crash.  The ambulance arrives and he is surrounded by EMTs and officers, willing to help him.  Bruised and bloodied we are ignored.  After he receives support and medical attention he gets back in the car and at last we are noticed! But wait-

"Get back in the car" they say.  "He is better now" they say.  

So I did.  And then I started to notice he was being a bit reckless around the corners, and getting carried away with his speed.  I asked him gently, softly if he should stop, if he needs a break or a deep breath.  I'm ignored and dismissed.  

I don't feel safe anymore.  I know how this ends.

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I have to get out of the car.  It might be a lack of courage, a lack of willingness to get bruised and bloodied again, I might be operating out of fear.  But I have to get out.  

At this present moment I am incapable of having a partnership with a man who is incapable of offering me compassion, empathy, trust.  He has great potential, I have seen Pete in recovery and he is a man worthy of the most tender parts of me. But when he is not in recovery or not seeking help, my offerings of love and affection will never be enough to fill his void.  In the throes of his addiction he is a black hole to my endearments and generosity. Sucking, taking, gulping, swallowing, and remaining always unsatisfied.  My vulnerability feels like pearls before swine; unnoticed, unappreciated, trampled.  

There was no apology after our last argument.  I can feel his resentments toward me oozing out his pores.  There is so much anger.  

On the bathroom floor as my breath slowed, I felt God ask me to surrender his son.  So I did.  And I try to each moment, each awkward passing in our home and each empty glance and uncomfortable exchange.