Flashbacks

Last night Pete and I were lying in bed and discussing the past.  Specifically I was telling him about the times when his cycle was so predictable I would almost just wish he would look at the damn porn and then get on with it.  Because after the relapse was always the honeymoon phase of the humble and repentant husband.  

But right before the relapse, that was when he was cruel and irrational and would criticize and blame me. 

Last night I was telling him how difficult those times were, the fear I lived in and the hurt and the frustration at the predictability of his addiction.  I sighed and said

“It was so hard.”

“Yeah” he said “2013 was hell.”

I thought about that for a minute and responded “2013 was hard for sure, but in a different way.  In 2013 I was the master of detachment and I at least knew how to keep myself safe and removed from your cycle.  It was lonely, but it wasn’t nearly as frightening or hurtful or confusing.  It was the years before that, those were hell.”

In the darkness it was quiet for a moment and Pete said  “If you were hurting you didn’t show it.”

I laughed a kind of half-hearted, ironic laugh.  “No. You just didn’t notice it.”

Then my mind took me back and painful memories started to play out in my mind, like flashbacks.  It wasn’t like a trigger, where the pain and feelings come rushing in whether you want them or not.  It was more deliberate and I let myself go there, to that place in the dark recesses of my memory.  Then I started to cry. 

Pete could tell my mood had shifted and said “Years? You make it sound like…”

But I interrupted him.  This was my moment to open his eyes to my memory.  Because all of the sudden it occurred to me that he really didn’t notice my grief during all that time. He was totally living in his own head, devoid of empathy as most addicts are. 

“It was just a couple years.  It started that weekend we were at your grandparents house when you had your new smartphone and you looked at porn in the bathroom and then told me about.  [Our baby] was only a few weeks old and that night I slept, but mostly cried, on a recliner in the basement with [baby] in my arms.”

Then I started to cry more and couldn’t stop or talk. 

I wish I could go back to that night, and hug and hold the me of those years.  This is what I would say.

Dear dear Jane.  I’m so sorry for your pain. I wish I could take away the breathtaking fear and the debilitating hurt.  But there are things in store for you.  You are going to learn.  So much.  People: therapists, experts, friends and strangers are going to come into your life and teach you just what you need to cope and thrive.  You will become more familiar with your own character and inadequacies but also your potential and worth.  You are going to become stronger and more confident.  You are going to practice bravery and courage.  You are going to make and nurture amazing friendships; that will make your heart GROW with new levels of love and compassion.  You are going to change.  And you are going to look back at how far you’ve come, even in the face of what is still ahead of you, and feel proud and grateful.  

Step 7 - Humility

Humbly ask God to remove my shortcomings. 

We've been reading the chronicles of Narnia with our kids for the last couple years and recently finished The Voyage of the Dawn Treader.  There is a scene in that book that just pierced me.  The symbolism is powerful and I really couldn't think of a better way to explain Step 7.  So I'm just going to share the passage here.  [It will be a condensed version but it will still be long.]

*******
For background- Eustace is the boy cousin of Edmund and Lucy Pevensie. He is obnoxious, selfish and arrogant.  He ends up being transported to Narnia with his cousins and they find themselves on board a ship.  The ship makes landfall on an enchanted island, where Eustace drinks from a pond and is transformed into a dragon.  As a dragon, he is miserable and lonely, and his heart is softened and changed.  He describes to Edmund being transformed back into a boy.

"I looked up and saw the very last thing I expected; a huge lion.  I shut my eyes tight.  But that wasn't any good because it told me to follow it." 

"You mean it spoke?"

"I don't know. I don't think it did. But it told me all the same. And so I followed it.  And it led me a long way into the mountains where there was a garden and a well.  The water was clear and I thought I could bathe in it.  But the lion told me I must undress first. I suddenly thought that dragons are snaky sort of things and snakes can cast their skins. So I started scratching myself and my scales began coming off all over.  I scratched deeper and my whole skin started peeling off beautifully.  I stepped out of it and I could see it there lying beside me, looking rather nasty.  It was a most lovely feeling.  

But just as I was going to put my feet into the water I looked down and saw that they are all hard and rough and wrinkled and skaly just as they had before.  So I scratched and tore again and this peeled off beautifully and out I stepped.  

Well exactly the same thing happened again. So I scratched away for the third time. But I knew it had been no good.  Then the lion said 

'You will have to let me undress you.' 

I was afraid of his claws, but I was desperate so I just lay flat down on my back and let him do it.  The very first tear was so deep I though it had gone right to my heart.  And when he began pulling the skin off it hurt worse than anything I've ever felt.  The only thing that made me able to bear it was the pleasure of feeling the stuff peel off.  

Well he peeled the beastly stuff right off- just as I thought I had done.  And there I was, smooth and soft.  Then he caught hold of me and threw me into the water.  It smarted like anything but only for a moment.  After that it became perfectly delicious.  And then I saw that I'd turned into a boy again. 

What do you think it was?" 

"I think you've seen Aslan," said Edmund.  

"Aslan! I've heard that name mentioned several times.  I hated it.  But I was hating everything then.  And by the way, I'd like to apologize. I'm afraid I've been pretty beastly.  

But who is Aslan? Do you know him? 

"He is the great lion, the son of the Emperor. He saved me."

*************
Change can be excruciating.  There is a quote from Step 7 that I love.

"We begin to notice that behavior.  We bump into it, over and over again. We begin to feel the pain from that behavior, the helplessness, the hopelessness, our own inability to change.  And we wonder how things will or can ever be any different."

I think that's what Eustace went through as the dragon. Finally he realized how horrible he had been, and yet now he was totally helpless to do anything about it.  I think for many addicts when they hit rock bottom and realize their powerlessness, they feel like Eustace.  It is totally obvious that they can't change on their own.

But for me, I hadn't been totally horrible, it wasn't so obvious that I even NEEDED to change.  But Steps 4-6 filled me with awareness of my own behaviors that were making me miserable and sabotaging my relationships.  And with a little humility I realized that I wanted to change.  Becoming refined and feeling redemption is precipitated by pain and suffering, the only way is through. But ultimately I'm looking for some joy and "delicious" relief.

You're overreacting! Am I overreacting?

Street Art

A few weeks go Pete and I were in the car on our way home from an afternoon in the mountains with the kids.  Conversations that go badly in the car are torture, because there is no escape, nothing but uncomfortable silence holding you hostage when someone disengages from the conflict.  There is also no privacy to process feelings or cry it out. 

"This is exactly why I didn't want to tell you this."  Pete said to me when he could see I was upset. The words, his demeanor, everything said to me

"There was only one appropriate reaction to what I just told you, and it was not the reaction you are having." 

This bothered me quite a bit, so much in fact that I later expressed to Pete how it wasn't right for him to only accept one emotion from me.  That no matter what his behavior, I was entitled to feel whatever feeling came to me. And a little empathy might go a long way.

A couple of days later I let each of my kids pick one of those pouches of pureed fruits and veggies for a snack.  In the car I distributed them, and then we were on our way.  In a matter of seconds my oldest child realized I'd given him the wrong snack. He fussed and whined about it and I found myself saying to him

"Get over it kid! I made a mistake, chill out.  Let it go! Stop making a big deal out of it."

Facepalm.

Hypocrite.

**************
It used to be that when Pete said I was overreacting it would spiral me into self-doubt.  Was I overreacting?  Now when Pete says it to me I just get pissed.  But I still find myself asking that question all the time. And here's where it's brought me.

Overreacting just means that the original behavior doesn't justify the magnitude of the response.  Right? Well, how can anyone, myself included, possibly be the judge of what behavior justifies any given response?

First of all, actions and responses can't be put in a vacuum; they can't be made isolated events unaffected by history, circumstance or mood.  For example, say I blow my top when the toddler poops in the bathtub.  A frustrating action indeed, but probably not enough to merit a motherly meltdown.  But suppose that was the last in a series of events that tested this mother's patience at bedtime. 

The fact is, I just REACT.  At some point I allow the feelings to all come out and I think my energy is better spent giving place for those feelings than fretting about whether or not the feelings were an appropriate response.  They just were the response.

This sex addiction world has caused extensive self-reflection and discovery that has molded my core beliefs.  And one of those beliefs is that feelings matter.  I should "honor" them.   If Pete, or someone doesn't like my reaction, I am happy to leave them to their own tools and coping mechanisms.  But my reactions are a huge opportunity for learning about what's going on inside my kooky head.  Why did this hurt so much? Where is this anger coming from?

It's absolutely possible that my reactions include some behaviors that are inappropriate.  Violence, cruelty, and manipulation are never acceptable.  In fact, I'm a firm believer that I can hone my response skillzzz so that my reactions don't include any of these unacceptable manifestations of my feelings.

But levels of hurt, disappointment, and anger just are what they are.  I can't measure them to determine if they are too much or too little.  It isn't helpful to compare them to anyone else's reactions.  It is certainly not okay for someone else to tell me that my pain is too much, my grief too severe or my frustration excessive.  Nor is it okay for me to dismiss any one else's feelings in response to the disappointments they face. 

(Side note: I think as a mother I am allowed, after offering love, empathy, and an apology where necessary, to help my children keep their disappointments in perspective.) 

I don't intend to let the demons of overreaction haunt me.  I'm coping with what has been given me, I'm making the best of the cards I'm dealt.  Take it or leave it,

it is what it is. 

Weapons in My Private Cognitive Warfare

Credit

So, in an effort to keep the bird from building a nest on my head, I came up with some simple, but meaningful phrases.  I want to memorize these, take them with me everywhere for awhile, until I can pull them up into my consciousness whenever my negative, self-pitying, critical thoughts start to take hold.  This is an experiment of sorts I guess.  Has anyone else tried something like this? I got the idea from Mara's post.

Many of these came from quotes or ideas from others, so I've cited those sources at the bottom.  I tried to make the statements concise and rhythmic.  We'll see...

#1- WORTH

• I need not depend on others to validate my worth.
• I need not prove my worth.¹
• I need only compare myself as I am and as I used to be.²

#2- LOVE

• I can make room for empathy by letting go of shame and guilt.
• I can love others as a reflection of God's love in me.
• I can be true to my faith, and a blessing to others regardless of their faith.³

#3- PETE

• I can demonstrate admiration.
• I can reciprocate love through affection.

#4- GRATITUDE

• I will not let my soul be sorrow's home.⁴
• I will not be blind to the goodness of those who surround me.

#5- HUMILITY

• I am loved by God the way I am, but loved too much to be left this way.⁵  
• I can give up the charade of my righteousness.⁶
• I can choose love over esteem, kindness over recognition.⁷
• I can see that my personal need for the Savior is not affected by what others have or have not done. ⁸

1. Marjorie Pay Hinckley
2. Courage to Change: One Day at a Time - I NEED this book.  I hear good quotes from it all the time at group meeting. 
3. Chief Rabbi Lord Jonathan Sacks Jewish Imperative
4. S. Michael Wilcox - Sunset - The exact quote reads: "The soul was not made by God to be sorrow's home. He would have us happy."
5. Brad Wilcox - his words I'm referencing here are from a different presentation not available online.
6-8. James L. Ferrell - Falling to Heaven

A Good Grief

Some people say that they would rather have their trials than someone else's.  Some people say they would rather have any trial but their own.  I'm not really sure where I fall, but I know God doesn't allow us to pick and choose our trials, they are chosen for us, to accomplish divine purposes.

The following is taken from the home page of a blog entitled "A Good Grief."

After the loss of her two year old daughter, Lucy, in 2008, Molly maintained her family blog, chronicling her grief. Resonating with people from all walks of life, her experience unveiled varied human suffering and like stories around the globe.

Molly started a blog where people share their stories of grief, but in a positive and transformative way.  I sent her my own story of the grief I've suffered as the result of disappointed dreams of marriage and life.  But to be sure, I recognize my grief as good in the sense that I am transforming into a better version of myself. 

I have been inspired by the many stories I've read on Molly's blog, and the strength I can draw from those who also suffer.  You can read what I wrote here or other stories of hope and healing here.

Embrace It

I've met some remarkable people in this other world of mine.  I guess I use the term "met" loosely as I haven't actually met most of them in person.  But through Mac I came across the Blog About Love where Mara and Danny share their experiences. Danny wrote a post a few weeks ago that spoke to me.  I emailed him my gratitude for his words and explained a little bit about my situation.  He responded with even more helpful insights.  He said to me:

"And remember that you have a better opportunity to learn about God's kind of love now than probably any other time in your life.  Embrace that, and embrace what it is that He WILL teach you if you let him."

I've been thinking about it since he wrote it, but on Sunday it hit me.  I felt the spirit whisper to me "What are you waiting for?"  I have been given some wonderful spiritual impressions and then just left them by the wayside.  I have not turned my broken heart over to the Lord.  All at once I fell to my knees and told my Heavenly Father that I'm ready now to be healed, to learn and to change.  

The next day, Monday, was one of my hardest days yet.  I called and made an appointment with a counselor for the first time.  I wept as I did so.  It was the moment where I intellectually acknowledged that I am emotionally broken.  I have been hurt and I don't have the skills to heal on my own.  There has been damage that is causing me to have unhealthy feelings and I need my Savior and experts on earth to help me.

Insight

Just as a continuation of my previous thoughts... the concept I described, [that if we knew why someone made the choices they did about divorce we wouldn't judge them for it], can be applied to pretty much everything. 

I have next door neighbors that I have criticized in the past for things like how they discipline their children, that they don't go to church, blah blah blah.  Then last weekend I learned something about them that made me feel so sheepish.  And I thought about all the feelings I've been having lately.

If only I had known what good things they do.  If I had known before that they are always serving our other neighbors, and that they make big sacrifices to get to church activities that anyone else would just skip.  If had known all those things, I never would have been critical of them. 

Isn't that ridiculous?

I'm so ashamed that I can't just take God's word for it.  I can't just trust that if he loves everyone I should too. 

My world came crashing down when I realized my husband, MY husband looked at pornography.  I've been humbled.  This experience is allowing me to see that everyone hurts, everyone gets disappointed, everyone is trying.  Because, by golly I was trying and I still ended up witnessing sin first hand.  Gradually, with much prayer, I am feeling love and acceptance of others without having to force it.  Instead of loving because I am commanded, I love because I need love right now.  I love because I know that in the quiet heart of another can be found the pain that resides in my own quiet heart.

Being married to a pornography addict isn't something you go around asking for sympathy about.  But as I've mentioned before, sympathy is something I desperately want sometimes.  So I am learning how to give it away, no strings attached.  You don't have to tell me why you do what you do, choose what you choose, say what you say.  I'll love you anyway.

Slight Consolation

Although we learn many lessons from our trials, they don't make us saints.  Nevertheless they change us, and give us an opportunity to think more deeply and feel more acutely than we otherwise would have.   At moments this doesn't seem like a blessing when our acute feelings are pain and anguish.  But sometimes I look at others with pity, who can not really taste the sweet because they haven't known the bitter.