Qualifying My Happiness

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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?

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? 

Disclaimer about Disclaimers

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Disclaimer- I'm writing a post without disclaimers.

I am the queen of disclaimers. I use them all the time to quantify things, to put a lid on something, to excuse myself.  Aren't we always putting a caveat on our good news?

"Things are going well.  I'm sure tomorrow will be back to hell. But today I'm doing better."

Well I want to write something without any qualifiers.  Hopefully you know I live in reality too. But for now I'm going to relish this.

I'm doing well.  I am feeling genuine, deep, happiness.  I am reconnecting with my husband. I am feeling gratitude for his changes.  I am noticing things about him that are appealing, and even safe.  I am hopeful.  I am experimenting with vulnerability. I am opening doors to my heart. I am sharing feelings.  I am swallowing my pride.  I am forgiving. I am loving.  I am being affectionate.  I am hugging and holding.  I am feeling really good. 

One of the things that Pete has really resented was a fear that I no longer admired him.  It was a little egotistical, but genuine too.  He knew in the past I admired him, he is so hurt when he thinks I no longer do. 

But now, I have moments where I see admirable things in him.

Something is coming alive again in our relationship.

It feels really good.

Progress Not Perfection And those Damn Meetings!

The Sobriety Chip

Pete just finished his second 90 in 90.  That makes 180 meetings in 180 days.  During round one he had trouble maintaining sobriety.  He was dealing with my emotional withdrawal, he hadn’t found a good therapist, and he was probably overwhelmed by the SA program.  He did a lot of phone meetings, and I could tell that many times he was just going through the motions.  When he started seeing his new therapist (sex addiction specialist) they put together a recovery plan, which included the second 90 in 90.   I had mixed feelings, our emotional distance made it so that I wasn’t exactly missing his company while he was at meetings, and I felt strong and independent taking care of everything on my own.  (Can you say martyr?)  But that was getting old.  He was stretched to his limits with his work and church responsibilities and a meeting every day which left me a little worn out with parenting.

But the second round was different.  He had good relationships with his SA friends. He loved the meetings. I don’t think he ever did a phone meeting, they were all actual butt-in-seat meetings. Sometimes he would miss one, so he would do two in one day, or do a fellowship.  (Or in the case of the SA retreat, like 6-8 meetings a day for two days.) 

The weekend of Thanksgiving he went four days without a meeting.  On Sunday night we were talking about it and he said

“I can’t do that. I can’t go four days without a meeting yet.” 

“But you didn’t act out, did you?” I asked.

“Yeah, but that’s not the point.”

I wish he could write this post and explain it better than I can.  But it was a big moment for me.  A trust building moment.  Something to the effect of this.  (These are MY words to his message.)

“Acting out starts long before I open the browser or pull my pants down.  It starts when I get mad at the guy who cut me off on my way to work.  It starts when I’m stressed out and I mistreat a coworker.  It starts when I snap at the kids.  It starts when I lay in bed in the mornings long after I should.  It starts when I’m bored, hurt or restless.  I need meetings to keep me accountable for all those things.  I need to own them and surrender them.  I need to ‘get current’ with my guys.  I need to be honest and I need to reach out. “

Now that Pete’s 90 in 90 is over he’s had to make a long-term plan for meetings.  I have moments where I resent recovery meetings.  They are so much time.  This isn’t the life I planned at all.  Combined with meetings, appointments with his therapist and time spent reading recovery materials; sometimes this feels like a part-time job.  That he’s not getting paid for.  That if he had done the right thing in the first place he would never need to have. 

But the reward is that I’m living with a guy who rarely gets mad at the guy who cuts him off on the road.  Or who tries really hard not to snap at the kids, and apologizes when he does.  A guy who is learning not to take responsibility for my bad days, but offer me compassion. 

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I was reading back over my blog and realized that it’s been three years since Pete and I used the word addiction.  First he got a therapist.  Then he reached out to his dad.  Two years ago he started attending 12-step meetings.  Then he quit going to his therapist.  And he quit going to his meetings.  In January of 2013 I packed the kids and left town in the middle of a snow storm because I’d had it.  I thought that would be rock bottom but it got worse.  2013 has been the unluckiest of years.  I’ll never forget it, and I’ll probably hate it for a long time.  I’m so ready to be done with it.  But it has been a year of change, and I feel so much new hope going into 2014.  Sex addiction sucks.  It feels so consuming and devastating and hopeless.  Just when I thought it couldn’t get worse it would.  And just when I think I’m doing better I melt down again.

But I don't need to let tomorrow's despair ruin today's happiness. And I don't have to let today's despair destroy my hope for tomorrow's happiness.

You Don't Need No Man

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My Dear Friend-

I'm going to go out on a limb here and share my story in the hope that it will be helpful to you.  As I always like to say- take what you want and leave the rest.

I want to challenge you on something.  I want to question your statement that you "need" your husband to offer daily manifestations of his love, help you around the house, and be a leader for your children.  Those things are all keys to a healthy marriage and a successful family life, but I know you, and I know you are strong, and I think right now that you can find peace and happiness without them.

I used to be a sponge for Pete's love, desperately seeking approval and validation from him, longing for his attention.  Eventually his addiction became so unmanageable that he was incapable of offering me those things.  In fact, he usually did the opposite.  Made me doubt myself, left me emotionally alone, withheld his love. 

As long as I continued to expect Pete to meet my needs, I felt disappointed and angry.  I was oozing with resentment toward him.  He failed and failed over and over and it was making me miserable.  Eventually I had to let him go. I had to find happiness and personal worth outside of my relationship with him.  I didn't say so to him, but maybe I could have said something like this.

"I'm relinquishing you from the obligations I've imposed upon you to make me happy.  To fill my cup.  To meet my needs.  I'm letting you go.  For the time being I'm determined to be dependent on myself for those things.  I have good people to love and support me.  I have children to fill my cup.  I don't NEED you right now.  You are free to find recovery, or not. But I'm going to let you off the hook.  For now.  I'm willing to let our marriage fall apart for awhile, with the hope that it will give you the space you need to join me in fixing it down the road." 

It's just a kill your own damn buffalo concept.  If you want to have family prayer, initate it.  If the garbage is full, take it out. 

I know it sounds so fiery feminist, maybe because it is,  but

YOU DON'T NEED NO MAN.

When I did this at first I was just being a martyr.  I was vindictive, and determined to guilt him into change. "I hope he feels like crap when he sees that I mowed the lawn" - type feelings.  But eventually it became an empowering and liberating way to live.  I DON'T need no man. 

I know that in the big picture husband and wife are one.  It's a relationship that enhances our joy.  But that wasn't/isn't the reality I'm living in. 

I love you friend- I know you are strong and you can find the emotional place you are searching for even if your husband never becomes the man he can become. 

The Power I Possess

Back in February C Jane had a series of guest posts about pornography addiction. Some of the comments were misguided at best and cruel at worst.  But I appreciated that she was giving blog time to the issue and so I submitted my own story that I wrote with the help of a friend. (Who turned out to be a demanding editor.)  C Jane didn't use my story, but I felt grateful for the experience I had writing it. 

Recently I've found myself seeking refuge behind my glass window again and I thought back to the strength I felt when I wrote these words.  Scabs taught me about writing less like a text book and more like a human.  Today when I read back through it I am reminded of the ability that authentic writing has to empower and validate self. 

Anyway, I thought I'd publish it today in an effort to recommit myself to its principles. 

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It takes an act of courage to write a post like this.  For someone in the throes of pornography addiction, it takes an act of courage to read the comments of such a post.  It is easier to protect myself by keeping my story on my bathroom floor, where I sit when I cry, behind a glass wall observing instead of healing.

So much is misunderstood.  Our paths are the result of experience and consideration that an outsider can’t begin to imagine.  A cynical and judgmental voice once belonged to me, and after nearly drowning in the shame of his sins and my shame by association; I was rescued by the idea that we are all flawed human beings. 

He’s an addict.  But I’m not going to write about him.   I want to write about me.

In the beginning I tried controlling him with passwords and filters. I persecuted and shamed him with religious fervor. I begged him to stop with shoulder-shaking sobs.  I tried to compete by being my prettiest, sexiest self. I created the ideal environment in our home and comforted him after each relapse. One night, sensing he was in a bad place, I tried staying awake to protect him from himself.  Silent and still beside him in bed I waited, sure the minute I fell asleep he would bolt upright and grab his smartphone.  My eyelids became too heavy and in the morning I awoke to his confession.  It was so predictable and STILL I could not stop it.  I failed.

My efforts were futile.  They were resented by my husband.  My well-being and sanity were compromised.  There was finally relief in the idea that I could not control him.  After reading, studying, praying and reaching out for support, I began to see the freedom and power I did possess.  It is the power to define and live my own life despite my husband’s choices.  I gave myself permission to heal and forgive. (See Step 1, here.)

One day while feelings of anger and injustice hovered over me, I was reminded of the advice of a friend.  She said, “Have the day you were going to have before he ruined it.”  So I did.  I played with my kids, went for a run, and even laughed. My husband isn't the one who pays the price when I dwell in bitterness. I pay the price because my attitude of indignation is manifested in all my relationships.

Refusing to heal is like living behind a glass window.  On the outside the world is going on without me.  People are kind and happy. But behind the window I nurture hate and fury.  Betrayal justifies anger and resentment.  My bitterness isolates me.  The window protects me from feeling.  Like a foul odor, my anger ekes out into the way I treat my children, other men, other women, everyone. Hateful and negative thoughts become consuming.

"Forgiveness is a gift that I give to my soul. Without it, I have no peace."  (Rhyll Croshaw.)

The place behind the glass window is miserable and lonely.  My time in that place is a dark and painful memory.  Occasionally I seek refuge behind the glass, in some effort to feel control and safety, but it is not the place for me.  So I return to the world on the other side of the glass, the place where I define and live my own life. 

The decision to stay or leave is so intensely personal I hesitate to even discuss it. In one ear I hear voices shouting about how I deserve better, how I'm crazy to stay. In the other ear, equally intense voices ask me if I'm really willing to ruin my children's lives over pornography.  I hear a voice of reason that tells me that I don’t owe anyone an explanation.  I hear a voice of compassion that reminds me of his goodness.  I hear the voice of my insanity that screams with ridicule that he will never change.

I stay because I view my husband's addiction like an illness. The analogy isn't without its flaws, but I've turned him over to the proper professionals, a counselor, a trusted confidant, and the healing power of the Savior, to help him recover. I can't cure him, and while he is humble and willing to accept treatment, I will honor my marriage vows. My husband is a wonderful man.  He is ambitious and successful in his career.  He is a gentleman to me and takes time to let me know I am appreciated.  He makes me laugh, and he finds ways to execute even my most outrageous plans.  I love him. This is only a small part of why I married him and why I remain with him, and says little of the memories and life we have built together.

There are no guarantees in life.  But, I can live a happy and fulfilling life with a compassionate and empathetic heart, not just in spite of my husband's addiction, but because of it.  The victim is not the part I want to play, emerging from the fight weak and disabled.  It is the heroine I want to be, emerging with strength and confidence.  Not worse for the battle, but better.  

I am empowered and liberated by the knowledge that I am strong. Even though I’m tempted to avoid stepping out from behind the glass wall, I’ve learned not to live in fear.  I am courageous and I’m okay with vulnerable. 

Remembering to Live

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While I don't believe that comparing the tragedy of someone else's life to my own suffering, in an effort to guilt me out of sorrow, is always a healthy way to cope with grief; I do believe that occasional or frequent reminders that my life does contain all I need for happiness, are beneficial.  A recent reflection on the life of a woman who survived the genocide in Rwanda was one such reminder for me.  (Because what kind of ungrateful pond scum would I be if I read her story and DIDN'T feel profound appreciation for freedom, family and safety? See... guilting myself out of sorrow...)

I've been wallowing like Wilbur in a muck of self-pity for a bit.  I've been grieving the disappointments of the past two years and the seeming lack of change with Pete's addiction. I've been self-medicating with social media and carbohydrates. 

But in the words of my wise friend Scabs, it's time to get off the couch. 

It's time to live again. 

My relationship with Pete is in something of a holding pattern.  Like a deep breath, or with a deep breath, I have accepted the circumstances of my marriage for the time being.  I give my most patient effort to wait for sobriety AND recovery before re-engaging with my husband emotionally and physically.  While I only have a general idea of his thoughts and feelings about our position, from my perspective we are cohabiting amicably.

In the meantime, I'm ready to shed my grief, and a few of those indulgent pounds.  It's time to get out from behind my glass wall and think a little bit less about myself and a little bit more about someone else.  [Beginning with my little people, who have suffered the most during my saddest days.]

It's time for some real connections and it's time to release some fears, disappointments, expectations and control.

“It does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live.”

J.K. Rowling

Insanity Returns

Morocco - Cavallo13

I had a horrible nightmare last night. I was at Pete’s office and there were pictures of Jennifer Aniston all over his walls.  But they were photographs, like he knew her personally and he had developed them from his own camera.  There was a third person in the room with us, but I can’t remember who it was.  Pete was pulling the pictures off the wall and it felt awkward and embarrassing in the room. He made some jokes about it, and then he randomly poured his paper cup of root beer on my shoes.  The next thing I knew we were at home, talking about the pictures.  I was lying in bed and he climbed on top of me.  He started groping me.  I begged him to get away, to leave me alone but he just laughed and told me to “lighten up.”

When I woke up I couldn’t stop the sobs from coming.  My response was visceral and I felt violated and abused.  I cried my tears into the pillow for a few moments and took deep breaths until my mind accustomed to reality and I fell asleep again. 

Pete has never been forceful or abusive.  That is not in him.  He doesn’t operate from power or brute strength.  I have no blame toward Pete for that dream.

It is my subconscious I blame.  And my subconscious blames my conscious.  And my conscious blames my insanity. 

I have to let go of the fear.  I have to.  Insanity would have me believe that the worst case scenario is even worse than my conscious can imagine.  Insanity would have me believe that my circumstances are incapable of offering me peace and a meaningful, joyful existence.  I’ve been letting insanity hang around too long.  Insanity wore out her welcome. Again.

 

It's not easy to shrug off the kind of pain that comes from a dysfunctional marriage. And I have no intention of shrugging off any of my pain.  But I know I need to work through it.  The only way is through. And on the other side of the pain is the place where I can start to feel gratitude and joy again.  The place where I banish Insanity and all her drama, and allow myself to feel optimism and appreciation.  The place where I make a key lime pie and attempt to practice vulnerability.

Lean into the Pain

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Last weekend was amazing.  In a few days I experienced extreme emotions related to the vulnerability of sharing secrets and odors in a van with five other people, the adrenaline of competition and hundreds of people going for the same goal, the endorphins that come from a runner's high, the emotional connections with genuine friendship, the frustration of combining personalities and opinions, the physical exhaustion of running 19 miles in two days, the sleep deprivation, the social "performance" expected with friends and strangers, side-splitting laughter and ultimately a severe compulsion to be alone. 

Now that I'm home and settled back into life I find myself dealing with the aftermath of the feelings and to be honest I feel totally hung-over.  I miss my friends.  I miss the highs.  There are periods of longing, wishing I were still in the middle of it and feeling anticipation about when I can do I again.

But I also remember how incredibly over stimulating it was.  And I can't imagine ever doing it again.

We are such complicated creatures.

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A couple weeks ago Pete and I were both having bad days. I don't remember the details or the circumstances but it was time to leave for church and I couldn't find him.  When I did find him he was sitting in a folding chair in our office and he looked at me with heavy eyes. 

"They say to 'lean into the pain.'  But I'm so tired of the pain."  His heavy eyes filled with tears.

I feel tremendous gratitude for the friendships I've made, the wisdom I've encountered, the knowledge and understanding I've gained.  Sometimes it seems as though happiness is just out of reach, I've almost figured it out.  One more breakthrough or one more epiphany and I'll get there. 

But the truth is, I'm a mortal.  The people I love are mortals.  There is going to be sadness, loneliness and confusion.  Anxiety causes the obsessive parts of my nature to feel like the world is spinning around me and I can't find my bearings.  Self-doubt, insecurity, guilt and disappointment float across my thoughts like clouds, giving me only brief glimpses of the glorious sunlight. 

Today is a cloudy day.

Sometimes my best option is to just lean into the pain. 

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What did I do last weekend? See here.

YOLO

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"I like living. I have sometimes been wildly despairing, acutely miserable, racked with sorrow, but through it all I still know quite certainly that just to be alive is a grand thing."

Agatha Christie

 



I'm going zip-lining in the mountains today with my co-workers.  I'm psyched! >> FIST PUMP <<

Next week is vacation with the fam.

I hope you all have a fantastic weekend.  I love you all more than ever. 

 

I have enough

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Julie is one of my favorite bloggers.  She has a gift for articulating her feelings through words, and when I read her words I am always inspired and enlightened.  Her latest post about gratitude started a thought process for me that has given me a new perspective.  Or maybe a re-newed perspective. 

I hope she doesn't mind me sharing here.

She talks about how a man tried to console her over the loss of her sweet little boy, by reminding her to be grateful that she was able to have a child when so many woman are not able.  His intentions were good, he only meant to help, but she felt there a was a flaw in his reasoning.  She says

"Gratitude is not born of comparison. Teddy Roosevelt said that "Comparison is the thief of joy." I believe that is true whether we are comparing ourselves to individuals we consider to be "above" us or those who seem to be "below" us. Comparison robs us of joy because it forces us to rank ourselves on some imaginary scale of happiness, when no such scale exists. Happiness is not linear, it's not a ladder to be climbed. It is more fluid like water. It moves around us and through us. Sometimes it fills us, and sometimes we thirst for it. "

How often I have thought how I ought to be grateful because my husband's addiction hasn't progressed as far as many other women.  But this reassurances has never felt very reassuring.  My pain has always been real despite the fact that it might be "less" than the pain of another. 

What I have is neither "more" or "less" than anyone else.  Gratitude is not found in focusing on the pain of someone else to belittle my own. 

Gratitude is feeling joy because in spite of everything, I still have enough.  

My pain is real, and comparing my pain to someone else's pain whether to make myself feel more self-pity because my trials are "worse", or to guilt myself into feeling gratitude because my trials are "better" is not productive.  Nor does it foster a healthy, compassionate empathy, but rather feelings of either jealousy or superiority. 

Coping with my pain is part of what brings me closer to God, teaches me, humbles me.  But ultimately living in my pain indefinitely can lead me to be ungrateful.  And by being ungrateful, I mean failing to recognize that what I have, regardless of what others have, is sufficient for my happiness. 

A few more wise words from Julie.
"I don't believe we can rank life's adversity... Watching your child die is hard. It is all hard, it is all pain, and finding respite in someone else's suffering is short lived and ultimately extremely unsatisfying. As I grow older and understand more fully the pain of others my heart aches more, not less. 

Since losing Jonah I have discovered that it is possible to feel gratitude in the midst of darkness. Gratitude brings with it a light and recognition that my life remains full of mercy and grace. "

I frequently fight the temptation to focus on what my life is lacking. It is easy for me to justify myself when I get cranky with my children, because I convince myself that what I have is not enough to make me happy.  But like Julie mentions in her post, I have traveled to an impoverished country myself, and seen joy the faces of people who have very little or experienced much pain.  This doesn't tell me that I SHOULD be happy because they are, it simply tells me that I CAN be happy with what I have. 

Not judging my feelings

A couple notes:

* Sorry about the horrible format issues with my last blog post. I published it on my way out the door, and didn't look back at it until today.  I noticed it was hard to read, so hopefully I've fixed it for any forthcoming readers. 

* My knowledge about things I post about is often infantile and inadequate, I think I know just enough to write a blog post and that's it.  For this post in particular I suggest reading a book on the subject from a real expert.  I might recommend "Calming Your Anxious Mind" for starters.  (Jeffrey Brantley and Jon Kabat-Zinn.)  I know it sounds like it is written for someone with anxiety, which it is. (Isn't that all of us?) But it is full of helpful information about meditation and feelings.

Sooo, without furthur ado...

What does it mean to not judge my feelings?

I had never thought about this concept until I read the book I mentioned above.  And then I started to see it alluded to all over on blogs and in counseling and at group etc.  Let me illustrate a great example of my bad habit of judging my feelings.

The night before Thanksgiving I had a meltdown. It was when my sister had hurt my feelings, then when I got home it seemed like everything was going wrong and I was spiraling into sadness and self-pity.  (Interestingly I don't even recall what had me so upset.)  But eventually I started having these, judgmental thoughts

"Why are you so sad? You shouldn't be sad.  Tomorrow is thanksgiving and you have so many things to be grateful for.  You are an awful person for being so ungrateful.  You should be ashamed of yourself for being so miserable when you should be so happy. Why can't you just be happy?!" 

So what is bad about that? I'm always saying things about choosing happiness and counting blessings right? Absolutely.  There is a time and place for that.  But sometimes, there is a time and a place for being sad.  So as I lie on my bed that night, I just let myself be sad.  I had a good cry and I thought about when Alicia blogged about that article in Readers Digest.  It was about how we spend so much time chasing happiness, we make ourselves miserable. 

Sadness and sorrow are part of our experience here in on Earth. 

Yep. I said it and I meant it.  We don't have to be happy all the time.  We can choose to be happy as much as we want, and when we want.  But it's okay to choose to be sad sometimes too.  Sorrow is not a sin. 

Here is a quote from that book:

"You are not your thoughts, feelings, or sensations.  These are events in the present moment that can be observed kindly and compassionately in the mirror of mindfulness.  Learning to experience these events [without judging them] ... will give you new power.  You ... discover your deepest quality of being and the peace and stability within you."

In other words, I don't need to feel guilt and shame when life's frustrating moments leave me feeling discouraged and sad.  If I don't want to feel discouraged and sad forever, I know what I need to do, I know how to turn it over and let it go.  But sadness isn't inherently bad.  It just is. 

I think all feelings serve a purpose for us by increasing our ability for empathy and compassion toward others, bring us closer to God, make us humble, motivate us to change, help us appreciate the good, and so on. 

So what do I do to feel sad without hating myself for it?

Here's what I try:

1. Stick to the facts.  I try not to make assumptions about other people and my perception of how they influenced me. 

2. Stay in the present moment.  I try not to dwell on the past.  I try not to focus on what should have been different, "If only..."  I also try not to worry about the future. I can be dramatic when I'm upset, truly believing that I'm going to feel this way forever and that everything is going to be different because of the way I feel in that moment.  If I can avoid this, chances are I will feel better in an hour, or in the morning, or in a few days.

3.  Just FEEL it.  Don't exaggerate it, but don't condemn it either. 

4.  Meditate. Breath in.  Breath out.  I'm no expert about meditation but this never fails me.  Sometimes it helps to distract myself by listenting to my body.  "I'm hungry.  My eyes are sore. My head hurts. It feels good to relax my shoulders and unclench my jaw.  My foot is falling asleep."  Or I focus on the sounds around me.  I listen to the clock tick, the cars driving by, the conversation of the people in front of me. 

This is an art I'm just on the threshold of understanding, but it is exciting and liberating to come to peace with not being a bubbly bundle of joy all the time.  And that's okay. And I can teach my kids its okay too. 

I am not helpless

Credit

Several months ago a woman from my ward started coming to group meetings, then we sometimes drove together and I heard her story.  Then a couple months ago she stopped coming to group.  And then stopped coming to church.  I called her Sunday and chatted and I invited her to come to group with me that night. 

She came.  It was a great meeting.  The love I feel for that [unfortunately growing] group of women is so profound.  But on our way home she confessed to me that she was hopeless.  She saw no way out of her misery.  She knew she was terribly insecure and she was sure her husband would never change.  (Ironically her husband is doing really well right now.)

So although she doesn't read my blog, I want to speak to her, and if anyone can relate to her I hope it will help.  She used phrases like

"I will always live in fear and anxiety."

"I can never be happy."

She is realistic enough to know that although leaving the marriage might be her choice, it wouldn't take away the hurt and insecurity.  But she also still believes that her circumstances, namely her husband's past indiscretions and present addictive behaviors, determine her happiness. 

I know that my situation hasn't been as devastating as hers, or maybe yours.  But I also know that the two aforementioned statements are lies.  Peace can replace fear, and happiness is possible. 

The trouble is, it takes work.  And my dear friend is so emotionally exhausted and hopeless that perhaps the idea of having to work to get there is just too overwhelming.  But at some point "the pain of the problem becomes worse than the pain of the solution."

If there is anyone out there who can

1. Acknowledge that there is a possibility that happiness and peace can be achieved
and
2. Feel even just a tiny glimmer of desire to try to achieve it

I want to help.  I'm going to make an offer.  I have spent months reading and working and trying to understand.  I'm still learning and appreciate the people who are helping me.  But in my process I've accumulated a library of blog posts, quotes, videos, articles etc to help me. 

**My offer is this, if you are willing to read/watch/listen to what I send you every day for one month, and respond by sharing your thougths (via email), I will send you empowering messages daily for 30 days. 

I'm not on step 12 yet, but I feel like this is my way I can share the things I've learned that I use to avoid despair.

At a meeting once, referring to Step 1 that says "I am powerless over the addiction of my loved one" a woman said,

I AM POWERLESS.  BUT I AM NOT HELPLESS.

My email is hisstrugglemystruggle (at) gmail (dot) com. If you just need a loving and empathetic support person, reach out. 

Strength

Credit

I've been living the last few days in the awkward discomfort of radio silence.  Pete and I have been at a stand-still, our relationship feeling hollow, and me feeling empty inside.  It is probably the cumulative effect of two people feeling totally misunderstood. 

The last couple nights as I've crawled into bed I've struggled to fight back the tears of despair. 

 I loved this quote from a woman named Julie who did a guest post on Jacy's blog.  She said

"People often ask me how I handle so many trials. I usually respond with something like, I didn’t know I had any other option."

Exactly.  What is the alternative?  Ending up in a psychiatric hospital on suicide watch? And friends, I don't say that in a derogatory way.  A human soul can only handle so much before that starts to seem like a reasonable alternative.  Thankfully I'm not to that point, I'm coping.  But when people say
"I don't know how you do it."  I feel like I have no other option. 

At least that's what I thought.  When I tried to tell myself that I was strong I didn't know how or what that meant.  Then I had breakthrough.  A couple nights ago I knelt at my beside, with a choice before me.

1. Plunge into the despair.  Let it overtake me.  Grab the Kleenex box and weep over my misfortune. 
or
2. Let it go.  Forget about it, at least for now.  Don't give into the despair.  Don't shed one tear.

I realized that if I was going to choose the second option it was going to take something... I was going to have to be strong.  I needed intellectual and emotional strength to let it go.  But I felt weak.  I thought of all the people I admire, and how they have chosen not to dwell in darkness and I decided that that night there were going to be no tears. 

It was truly liberating and empowering. I felt strong. 

I know I'm not always going to succeed.  The next night I had to do it again. I didn't cry but I still allowed self-pity to occupy my thoughts until I fell asleep.  But I know I have strength within me, and my other option isn't insanity.

It's peace and purpose.   

GET! OUT! Stupid birds.

Credit


There's a Chinese proverb that says

"You cannot prevent the birds of sorrow from flying over your head, but you can prevent them from building nests in your hair."

I love that proverb.  But I'm no good at it.  I've got nests all over the place.

Pete told me that when he was twelve his Sunday school teacher did an object lesson using a toilet paper roll, some black cotton balls and some white cotton balls.  He filled the roll with black cotton balls,

"These are bad thoughts in your brain."  He dumped them all out, but pointed out that in the empty space they easily found their way back in.  So gradually he started shoving white cotton balls into the toilet paper roll, and Lo! Behold! The black ones popped out, one by one. 

I've been thinking about what to do with the negative thoughts that are floating in my head.

Jealousy, resentment, judgment.  I don't want them there.  They drag me down.  The trouble is, in the moment that the birds of sorrow are gathering twigs, I don't have the energy to fight them.  I make a few weak efforts to conjure up some positive images or find gratitude, but it's half-hearted. 

For example: Today on Facebook (yes, I'm STILL on FB), one my friends posted a picture of Honey Boo Boo with her mother, and some other ridiculously dressed pageant obsessed women and their own victims of vain obsession daughters.  My friend's caption said "Love me some Honey Boo Boo!"

What?! I never thought  R----  would be the type to be into that warped world of veneers and fake tans on toddlers?  I mean seriously people! Honey Boo Boo represents everything that is wrong with our society. Worth based on beauty, sexualizing young girls, etc, etc.  I need to comment, I need to point out the error of R---'s thinking.  Where is my soapbox, I need it NOW. 

Meanwhile conflict takes over my entire being, I get agitated and annoyed, I've lost all peace and kindness.  The birds are laying eggs already. 

Later today... I'm cooking dinner and Pete comes in and playfully sticks his hand between my legs. 

What?! He is so horny.  He is always so horny.  Does he think I'm going to take my clothes off right here?  I'm busy.  His timing is terrible, I would rather he just cut that onion.

My body language is icy cold and he withdraws, hurt and rejected.  A giant wall has instantly gone up between us. 

I think what I need is some stand-by positive thoughts.  Some easy to retrieve, "go-to" catch phrases to be the equivalent of my white cotton balls.  That's going to be my project this week.  A creed.  Or more like, 5 Creeds. 

#1- Positive thoughts to combat the birds of comparison.  Thoughts on worth.
#2- Positive thoughts to overcome judgment.  Charitable thoughts.
#3- Affectionate thoughts about Pete. 
#4- Positive thoughts to ward off jealousy, thoughts of gratitude.
#5- Positive thoughts to squash pride.  Thoughts on humility.

The rascal got away with it, or did he?

Credit

There's a phrase in my head, or a few phrases.  They've been floating around in my conversations, comments and thoughts.

"Doesn't it seem like they are getting away with it?"

"It isn't fair that he can just repent to the bishop and be forgiven and I'm still hurting."

"He gets to have his cake and eat it too.  I don't think he feels any consequences or cares about hurting me." 

I hope that I can articulate the way I feel about this in my soul. 

Way back when... when I wore rose-colored glasses, I figured I was happy.  Yeah, I had some serious issues with self-pity now and then, but it never really occurred to me that I could be happier.   The depth of my feelings, both joy and grief, were equivalent to a mountain spring.  Little pebbles and twigs had defined my character. 

Now, I feel like the depth of my joys and griefs are equivalent to the grand canyon.  And I had to fall off a cliff to get here.

I think sometimes we imagine that men encompassed in addiction are going on their merry way.  Feeling happy, or at least content.  And while I think it would give us great satisfaction to know that they were suffering inside (and many are) I think most are just unaware how unhappy they are.  Or they attribute their unhappiness to outside sources rather than taking ownership for their misery.

For example:

We might suppose that a porn addict lies in bed at night thinking

"What a day!  I got my jollies online, pleased myself in the men's room at lunch, and then made love with my wife.  I'm the luckiest man alive.  And I'm getting away with it all!"

I don't believe that there is a man out there who thinks that way.  It goes against fundamental truth and universal principles.  Wickedness never was happiness. 

What we HOPE they are thinking:

"I've really screwed up.  I have a good wife, and I've betrayed her.  My kids look up to me and I am failing them.  I made bad choices, I have power to make good ones and I deliberately chose not to.  I am pathetic and I need help."

Some men get to this point, eventually.  But it takes a lot to get them there, and more often than not they are more like this

"What a crappy day.  I can't believe everything that went wrong at work.  I am so tired of all the nagging at home.  I could't help myself from getting distracted online, and what's the big deal if I please myself now and then. It's not like everyone else is perfect.  I have needs too."

Unfortunately there is a definite lack of personal responsibility there.  Is it the ideal? No.  But tell me this...

Are those the thoughts of a man who is escaping pain and suffering?  NO.  Abosolutely not.  Is it the pain and suffering we WANT them to be feeling?  No, not really.  But are they happy? Even content? Not at all. Their thoughts and lives are chaotic, confusing, frustrating, frightening, embarrassing.

Not to mention, living a life of constant justification must be exhausting.

I guess my point is that we think that they are free.  We think that they aren't feeling remorse and that they are getting away with it because they are avoiding the pain of their choices.  But we know better. 

First, we know that eventually, for them to find true happiness, they will have to face that pain.  And it will be utter anguish.  And they WILL suffer. 

Second, we know that they ARE suffering.  They ARE miserable.  They may not make the connection between their misery and their behavior, but they are not living in peace and serenity. 

Lastly, in recovery, with healing, we have the power to be happy. REALLY happy.  A new kind of happy we never knew existed.  A liberating freedom from addiction to codependency that changes everything. 

I think about this often when I look at others.  It's not just addicts that appear to get away with living a superficial and indulgent lifestyle.  All around us are people who are choosing the easy way, and therefore sacrificing the amazing power and strength that comes when we pay the price of pain and humility. 

Maybe some people are okay with mediocre relationships, with low self-worth,  weak character.  And that's their choice.  But they aren't living up to their potential, and it is therefore impossible for them to enjoy the fulfillment, superior relationships and pure joy that come when we live up to our potential.  Maybe they don't know what their missing. 

But we do. 

A New Normal?

My laptop is dusty.  Literally.  I took the last few weeks of summer to disengage from all things online-pornography-addiction-related.  I still went to meetings, lest I get totally lost. 

I'm sorry if you have emailed me and I haven't responded.  Your thoughtful words are so kind, and appreciated.  I don't mean to be inconsiderate by not responding, I was in a weird place.

There are a couple people in my life that thrive on drama.  You know the types, they love to gossip, especially if it's scandalous or tragic.  They stir the pot, they make mountains out of molehills and inflate and exaggerate to elicit emotional responses.  It is almost sadistic.  Emotionally sadistic.  Not to mention it wreaks havoc on relationships. 

As usual, I've painfully discovered that perhaps the reason these people frustrate me so much is because I am frustrated at the way I see this fault in myself. 

This is difficult to write, FIRST, because it's embarrassing to admit.  But SECONDLY, because, to those who are currently in the midst of anguish and inner turmoil what I'm about to say may seem totally INSANE, or at least insensitive.  

Things have been going well around here.  And I'm resenting it.

I know, right!? INSANE.

At group meeting last week someone made the comment that she is addicted to the addictions that surround her.  I've heard about co-addiction before, I've written about co-addiction.  But all of the sudden it clicked with me again. 

The last few weeks I've been mad that things ARE going well.  What do I have to complain about now? What do I have to write about?  Where is my drama?  Where is my fuel for my giant self-pity bonfire?

Happiness is a matter of choosing to be happy.  I've said it before and I'll say it again.  Circumstances do not determine happiness.

I know it's hard to be happy when your husband looks at porn, believe me, I know.  But even now after I have come to some sort of peace with Pete's addiction, I still can't be happy.  And now, I know better than to blame it on him.

On our way home from a recent vacation I started to get on Pete's case again.  The usual codependent harping. 

"You know, you really should be doing this, or shouldn't be doing that." 

We hadn't talked about it in awhile and haven't really since.  But I can see that it was just my own uneasy feelings about our lack of drama around here.  It's not normal.  Or, its a new normal.

So after group meeting last week I took some time to count my blessings.  I should truly be grateful for some stability and predictability.  These last few weeks of summer have been really great family time. 

It's these painful realizations about my own character flaws(ingratitude) and addictions (desire for drama) that are making it really hard for me to get past Step 6.  So stay tuned...

Those Aren't Fightin' Words

I read this  NY Times article a few months ago, and really admired and respected the author.  Then, when I co-worker of mine told me that her husband said he no longer loved her, I dug it up again to share with her.  As I read through it again myself I was reminded of the amazing truths she articulates. 

A quote:

"You see, I’d recently committed to a non-negotiable understanding with myself. I’d committed to “The End of Suffering.” I’d finally managed to exile the voices in my head that told me my personal happiness was only as good as my outward success, rooted in things that were often outside my control. I’d seen the insanity of that equation and decided to take responsibility for my own happiness. And I mean all of it."

And another,

"I simply had come to understand that I was not at the root of my husband’s problem. He was. If he could turn his problem into a marital fight, he could make it about us. I needed to get out of the way so that wouldn’t happen."

And one more,

"When life’s knocked us around. And our childhood myths reveal themselves to be just that. The truth feels like the biggest sucker-punch of them all: it’s not a spouse or land or a job or money that brings us happiness. Those achievements, those relationships, can enhance our happiness, yes, but happiness has to start from within. Relying on any other equation can be lethal."

If you are still struggling to understand detachment, or just need some courage or motivation, her words might inspire you.

But, for me it is just this ever-present struggle to fight self-pity.  I am STUCK on the idea that in fact, relationships, success and so-called beauty are the things that would make me happy if I had more friends, better behaved children, or more completed home improvement projects. 

I'm currently reading a book that is making me really ponder the idea that I am entitled to certain things, or that I deserve a certain life.  I'll write more about it later, but in the meantime I'm working hard to accept that a lot of time can be wasted in bitterness about being denied what I thought I deserved.  Just like she said, some childhood myths turn out to be just that.  I can let that sucker-punch knock me down, and let the disappointment justify my underlying sadness. 

Or I can duck. 

(Now go read the whole article, I promise this one isn't too long! And my last line will only make sense if you do.)

http://www.nytimes.com/2009/08/02/fashion/02love.html?pagewanted=2&_r=4&adxnnlx=1319069078-tWVtSFPl5piXmMJn1kZ1aw

My time machine

I finally came up with something for Angel's experiement.  Here it goes.

Lately I've been feeling like I'm forgetting all the pain.  I know, this is amazing, I should be grateful and thrilled, and for my own benefit, I am.  But I feel like I'm losing my empathy.  I also feel like I've heard so many stories, much worse, that I have no "right" to complain.   After group meeting the other night another woman, even more advanced in recovery than I am, and I were visiting.  She said she sometimes worries that when she says things like

"I'm so grateful for this experience..." or "I no longer worry or suffer..."

that the other women in the room want to ring her neck.  We agreed that it is nice to see that someone survived, that there IS hope.  But at the same time, I don't cry during meetings anymore and that almost makes me feel like an outcast.   (Not really, let me be clear, there are no outcasts in group meetings.)

Last night Pete and I had an argument.  It wasn't over anything substantial, but I rolled over in bed and closed my eyes.  I forced myself to think about nothing.  Breathe in. Breathe out.  Go to sleep.

Then I remembered.  I remembered, months ago, being curled up in the fetal position on the blue rug in our bathroom.  I let Pete take care of the kids while I first sobbed, and then closed my puffy eyes.  Forcing myself to think about nothing.  Breathe in.  Breathe out.  Go to sleep.  Escape reality. 

When the memory hit me the pain didn't come back, just the memory of the pain.  It was real.  It had hurt tremendously.  It felt like betrayal.  I was devastated.  I can relate.  I do have empathy.

The pain of everything in the past is gone.  It is truly gone.  I am healing.  I am totally uncertain about the future, there are no guarantees but I do feel prepared.  It has been two months since Pete's last relapse, and I am clueless as to if or when another episode will come.  But regarding what is behind me, it is at last, behind me. 

I don't mean to imply that I have "completed" recovery.  I'm not sure that is even something I can ever cross off a checklist.  It's a life process for me, even if Pete eventually overcomes addiction.  I am still sorting through issues.  So this is where I stand today:

-I am days away from having the most frightening conversation of my life.  I have completed my personal inventory for Step 4 and am preparing to share it. 
-I still struggle with intimacy and affection, and get frustrated with myself as I strive to have a healthy sexual relationship.
-I still feel regular temptations to return to codependent behaviors and constantly let the choices of other people determine my mood, attitude, and ultimate happiness. 

But,

-I have moved on from the debilitating fears of my husband's addiction, our future, his salvation, death and doom, to more managable fears about people not liking me, rejection, and failure. (Progress, right?)
- I have forgiven Pete for his past misdeeds.  I don't perpetually blame him for all the shortcomings of our relationship.
- I don't blame myself for any of Pete's past choices.
- I have a strong desire to reach out to others, to help them, to comfort them, and to give them hope.
- I have faith in God, that his divine plan for me is going to give me peace no matter what my mortal experience will entail. 
- I view the trials of others in a different light, it's sad and I feel awful for their pain, but I have faith in God's plan for them as well. 
- I have learned a new way to live, and a new way to love. 

I look forward to the coming year, for myself and for all of you!

I Haven't Forgotten You

Dear Anonymous-
I read your comment and my heart went out to you.

How many triggers can there be out there?... a reminder of a moment of past trauma sneaks up and surprises you with a dose of emotion. Completely overwhelmed, and usually including unexpected crying. Each trigger is a new journey to crawl out of the emotional pit of pain. How long do the triggers last?

I can relate, especially to the unexpected crying.  I've been thinking a lot about what I can say, and I consulted with April/Scabs.  We talked and I'll share my thoughts (which might also be her thoughts.)

Regarding triggers, I know there is scientific evidence that they are subconscious, that we have no control over them.  And I believe this is true.  But we do have control in our response to them, and I also believe that as we learn to cope with our response the triggers lose their power. 

April pointed out to me that very often, triggers are lies, lies that act as fuel for our negative emotions.  They are feelings of hopelessness, lack of control, despair and hurt.  But we know there IS hope, we DO have control over our emotions and we CAN heal from despair and hurt. 

I think triggers are also based in fear.  We are afraid of what it will feel like when we are reminded of the indescretion of our husband.  We are afraid of what it will feel like when he relapses.  We are afraid of relinquishing our feelings of resentment, lest we forgive too quickly or lose our self-imagined influence. 

Why can't I put all this away? He's been clean for a few months. He thinks he will never use again. He says there are no temptations. How many times has this happened and then the cycle begins again? Will the worry about when the next bomb will drop ever release its hold?

It took Pete years, yes YEARS, to realize that a few months without temptation did not mean he was free from the addiction.  Marlee just posted the other day that her husband went 2 1/2 years sober.  I don't say this to discourage you, just to give you knowledge.  I've said it so many times but I'll say it again.  Ignorance is bliss, but knowledge is power.  This does not mean it is your job to convince your husband of this knowledge, let him come to it on his own.  But tuck it away in your aresenal so you can be prepared and accepting of the future.

There is a good chance he will relapse, and YOU WILL BE OKAY.  Ask Mac. 

I believe you CAN put it all away.  I know I don't worry about when the next bomb will drop anymore because I've let go of my fears about how badly that will hurt.  I know I will be disappointed and hurt, but I also know that I don't need to have anxiety about it.  I can cope with disappointment and hurt, I have faith that I will be taken care of by a loving Savior and Heavenly Father.  And I don't mean they will care for me by curing my husband, they will care for me by giving me an endowment of strength and peace during those difficult moments.  

These feelings don't come naturally.  I've had to discover them, nurture them and carefully select the emotions I want to keep around by making a deliberate effort to discard the ones I don't. The negative emotions still come to me.  For me it comes in the form of self-pity.  I fight it daily and sometimes I don't fight at all, I just wallow.  Those days are miserable.  I hate them.  But it is the path of least resistance, and unfortunately, we all know, it is resistance that builds strength.  So I try to resist the lies that creep in, and in doing so build strength against them.