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.

******************
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?

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.  

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.

**********************

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.  

Take Two, or three or four or thirty? - Part I

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Since we moved abroad Pete has slowly been slipping out of recovery.  We knew this could happen.  We knew the move would be hard for him. He came here and had to start over. No group, no sponsor, no therapist.  He started going to meetings - but lately even those seem to not be a priority in his shedule.

Every few weeks we would talk about it and I would express concern, but I was usually dismissed.  Finally one night, about a week ago the conversation came up and I asked him

"Are you saying you don't want to be in recovery?"

To which he responded

"I don't want to be in recovery for you."

Which I heard as

"You're not worth it."

Logically I know that's not what he meant, but it stung nonetheless.  It really stung.

I left the house and walked for awhile and thought about how desperately I wanted to be over this. Done with it.  I want so badly to have a healthy, close relationship with him.

But Pete is not in recovery anymore.  He might be a dry drunk, he maintains his sobriety, but I don't trust him.

That is so disappointing.  It hurts my pride to think that I am back to fighting old battles with myself and my addict.  I think I was starting to believe I had influence, even control.  But as I walked under the street lamps the other night I gave myself a pep talk.

You can do this.  You have tools. You have intuition.  You have knowledge.  You don't have to trust him.  You don't have to doubt yourself. You can't convince him of anything.  You are going to be okay.  You don't have to prove anything to him or take ownership of his recovery.  You can make mistakes.  You can do it wrong and then start over.  You don't have to fear him.  You mustn't feel ashamed.  You can do this.  

Deep breath. Here we go.

Step one. I am powerless over the addiction of my loved one.

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.  

More of the Same

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Last Sunday, one week ago, I sat in a bathroom, in a new home, in a new country, and cried the same tears I've cried around the world in my old bathroom.

The feelings were exactly the same.  So much had changed and yet an old familiar pain and discouragement overcame me.  No airplane could take me away from that pain.  No distance could quell it.  No ocean could separate me from it.

Pete had relapsed, which I had handled well enough I suppose, but something inside me was demanding that I withdraw and so I told him that I didn't feel safe and I couldn't be emotionally connected without trust.  He didn't appreciate that and I triggered into my old feelings of being unheard and misunderstood.

The thing is- this stuff doesn't go away for Pete and me. I'm not sure why. I had big dreams of starting a new life here, and although I didn't have any real evidence that all of the sudden Pete would quit relapsing, of course I longed for it.

But the other things is- I'm going to be okay. This is my load.  It gives me spiritual traction, it brings humility and compassion. Pete is going to be okay.  His load is changing him too, as he recovers we are learning healthier ways to communicate and love.

"There is no physical pain, no spiritual wound, no anguish of soul or heartache, no infirmity or weakness you or I ever confront in mortality that the Savior did not experience first. In a moment of weakness we may cry out, “No one knows what it is like. No one understands.” But the Son of God perfectly knows and understands, for He has felt and borne our individual burdens. And because of His infinite and eternal sacrifice, He has perfect empathy and can extend to us His arm of mercy. He can reach out, touch, succor, heal, and strengthen us to be more than we could ever be and help us to do that which we could never do." - David A. Bednar

Oh The Places You'll Go!

I think one of the most popular graduation gifts has to be that Dr. Seuss book, Oh the Places You'll Go.  I wish someone would have given me a book when I got married, or when I discovered I was married to a porn addict about the places I would go.

Congratulations!
Today is your day.
You're off to Dark Places!
You're off and away!

You have brains in your head.
You have feet in your shoes
You can steer yourself
any direction you choose.
You're on your own.  And you know what you know.
And YOU are the girl who'll decide where to go.

You'll look up and down streets.  Look 'em over with care.
About some you will say, "I don't choose to go there."
With your head full of brains and your shoes full of feet,
you'll learn when you go down a not-so-good street.

And when things start to happen,
don't worry.  Don't stew.
Just go right along.
You'll start happening too.
You won't lag behind, because you'll have the speed.
You'll pass the whole gang and you'll soon take the lead.
Wherever you fly, you'll be the best of the best.
Wherever you go, you will top all the rest.

Except when you don't
Because, sometimes, you won't.

I'm sorry to say so
but, sadly, it's true
and Hang-ups
can happen to you.

You can get so confused
that you'll start in to race
down long wiggled roads at a break-necking pace
and grind on for miles across weirdish wild space,
headed, I fear, toward a most useless place.
The Waiting Place...

I'm afraid that some times
you'll play lonely games too.
Games you can't win
'cause you'll play against you.

All Alone!
Whether you like it or not,
Alone will be something
you'll be quite a lot.

And when you're alone, there's a very good chance
you'll meet things that scare you right out of your pants.
There are some, down the road between hither and yon,
that can scare you so much you won't want to go on.

On and on you will hike
and I know you'll hike far
and face up to your problems
whatever they are.

You'll get mixed up, of course,
as you already know.
You'll get mixed up
with many strange birds as you go.
So be sure when you step.
Step with care and great tact
and remember that Life's
a Great Balancing Act.

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What places have I been? I've been in the place of denial. Where I was sure what had just happened would never happen again. Relapse wasn't in my vocabulary because neither was addiction.

And I've been in a place where I sobbed and suffered.  Where I feared relapse with fervent dread.  A place where I was quite sure another relapse would be the end of my marriage or the end of my sanity.

Then I went to a place where I didn't care about relapse. He could act out today or tomorrow and I didn't care. He could never act out again or act out in two years and it made no difference to me. I was my own woman, free from any attachment to him.

And now I find myself in a new place. A place my friend told me about and invited me to. Dealing with relapses with new emotions.  A degree of acceptance.  Not of his behavior, but of him and his diligent and sincere efforts.

I've heard stories of men who were ripe and ready for recovery.  They drank it up with willing thirst.  They applied it to their lives and they have been sober ever since.  This is not my husband.  Over the years he has resisted recovery and stubbornly refused to apply it's principles to his life.  Until he couldn't resist anymore and he collapsed into the arms of SA.  But his demons seem to be stubborn and resistant too.  His road is different and his places elsewhere.

I'm okay with my place. And I'm okay with the places I've been through to get to my place. I don't discredit anyone else's place either, even if it's a place I never visit.

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 And IF you go in, should you turn left or right...
or right-and-three-quarters? Or, maybe, not quite?
Or go around back and sneak in from behind?
Simple it's not, I'm afraid you will find,
for a mind-maker-upper to make up his mind.
Somehow you'll escape
all that waiting and staying.
You'll find the bright places
where Boom Bands are playing.

Could we have been so mistaken in the men we married?

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Our library of recovery books just keeps growing and growing.  I love to read but I can't say that I love to read recovery books.  I follow my gut and read the things that speak to me.  The other night Pete was reading to me from the book Alcoholics Anonymous, and there is a chapter for wives.  I highly recommend it, especially if you are just embarking on this journey.  Ultimately the goal of the chapter is to provide guidance to wives of alcoholics, but the beginning reminded me so much of my own experiences with Pete's pornography addiction, and the experiences I've heard from friends, that I wanted to share it here.

I'm sure we don't relate to all the problems or all the feelings, but I think we can all probably relate to many of them.  What part speaks to you?

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"We have traveled a rocky road, there is no mistake about that. We have had long rendezvous with hurt, pride, frustration, self-pity, misunderstanding and fear. These are not pleasant companions.  We have been driven to maudlin sympathy, to bitter resentment.  Some of us veered from extreme to extreme, ever hoping that one day our loved ones would be themselves once more. 

Our loyalty and the desire that our husbands hold up their heads and be like other men have begotten all sorts of predicaments. We have been unselfish and self-sacrificing.  We have told lies to protect our pride and our husband’s reputations. We have prayed, we have begged, we have been patient. We have struck out viciously. We have run away. We have been hysterical. We have been terror stricken. We have sought sympathy.

Our homes have been battle-grounds many an evening.  In the morning we have kissed and made up.  Our friends have counseled chucking the men and we have done so with finality, only to be back in a little while hoping, always hoping.  Our men have sworn great solemn oaths that they were through [acting out] forever. We have believed them when no else could or would.  Then, in days, weeks or months, a fresh outburst.

We came to live almost alone.

There was never financial security. Positions were always in jeopardy or gone. An armored car could not have brought the pay envelopes home. The checking account melted like snow.

Perhaps at this point we got a divorce and took the children home to father and mother. Then we were severely criticized by our husband’s parents for desertion. Usually we did not leave. We stayed on and on. 

As animals on a treadmill, we have patiently and wearily climbed, falling back in exhaustion after each futile effort to reach solid ground.

Under these conditions we naturally made mistakes. Some of them rose out of ignorance of [addiction]. Sometimes we sensed dimly that we were dealing with sick men.

How could men who loved their wives and children be so unthinking, so callous, so cruel? There could be no love in such persons, we thought.  And just as we were being convinced of their heartlessness, they would surprise us with fresh resolves and new attentions. For awhile they would be their old sweet selves, only to dash the new structure of affection to pieces once more.  It was so baffling, so heartbreaking. Could we have been so mistaken in the men we married? Sometimes they were so inaccessible that it seemed as though  great all had been built around them.

As wives of [addicts] we would like you to feel that we understand as perhaps few can. We want to leave you with the feeling that no situation is too difficult and no unhappiness too great to be overcome.”

LIAR!!

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A few months ago, when Pete wasn't talking to me about his recovery because I had emotionally withdrawn, I wondered about his sobriety.  A friend told me how to check a google search history.  At first, the search history wasn't on, so I turned it on.  I checked it every day for a few days, and it always came up clean.  This gave me some peace of mind (obviously it's not fool proof) but Pete had also agreed to tell me when he broke sobriety. So I went with it. 

After his confession on Monday I kind of had that annoying nagging feeling. During his confession I specifically asked if this was the only "episode." He reassured me that it was a one-time deal. A blip. A slip.  

Yesterday I had the idea to check his google history. I hadn't done this in a long time.  But I decided to do it.  I'm not a fan of snooping if it's done out of codependency.  I had never needed to snoop before. He always confessed.  But I went ahead and pulled it up.  I looked over it.  It didn't match what he had told me. There were other searches.  A lot of them, on two different days besides the day he had confessed about.  I tried to work it out logistically in my head but it didn't make sense.  My heart started to race.  I started to sweat.  I called him.  He admitted to it. 

My trauma went to a couple new levels yesterday.  

1. I've never caught Pete before. (Except one time I read a text conversation with his dad.) I've never seen searches or images.  I've never had that nauseating feeling when you read the words your husband typed into the Google box. The names of the women who are the objects of his fantasies.  I could not stop sweating. 

2. Pete has always been honest.  Or I thought he had always been honest.  Except that one time, when he wasn't.  And now I feel so ridiculous saying it. I've told everyone else that there is always more than what the addict is admitting to.  But I'm the exception.  Addicts are liars.  But Pete is the exception.  Yeah, Pete has been mostly honest.  But once there are lies, how do you EVER know what's a lie and what isn't?  Trust is so fragile.  So easily and quickly destroyed.  And such a painful, excruciating reality check.  

I hate those old feelings of being a fool, being deceived, duped, manipulated.  I HATE those feelings.  I want to scream and throw up and run until my lungs are on fire.  I want to punch pillows and break plates. I want to curl up and sob. I want a hug that never ends, from a friend.  I want to be manic and active, and the next minute I want to be lazy and lethargic.  

I thought I was at the beginning of the end. I thought this was going a new direction.  I thought my posts on this blog were winding down. 

But he is still sick. 

Eventually I won't be angry at him for that.  Eventually I'll find acceptance.  But today it hurts.  

There have been times in years past when I worried that if he got better, what would I do with myself? This was my new identity.  But I have long since relinquished that identity. I REALLY wanted it to be over this time.  I was REALLY ready to move on to our new life.  Of course I knew it would always be there. But I have friends whose husbands have a year or two sobriety.  Why can't I have that? Why does it elude him, and me? 

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**After I wrote this I went back to link to the post I wrote about the last time I discovered that Pete had lied to me.  It makes me wonder why we ever trust at all?

Stream of Consciousness

Pete had a slip/relapse/acted out/messed up... whatever you want to call it.  I hate all those words.

I want to write about it- but don't really know what to say, or have time to refine anything or make it logical and analytic. (My specialty.)

So I'm just going to write.  I think it will be good for me.

Pete confessed to me to about his break in sobriety a few days ago. It was a few days after his four month mark, but he hadn't been to a meeting in a few days so he missed his chance to get a four month chip.  Yesterday as I was putting away the laundry I saw all his chips on the bottom of his drawer.  It was really sad for me.  After he confessed he told me that he had an appointment with his therapist that same morning.  He said his therapist had to pull him out of the depths of despair. I felt really grateful that he has a good therapist, and really sad that he was in such despair.

I don't get it. I don't know why this happens.  Why, after months of sobriety, he just gives in and indulges. It seems like there is always so much on the line.  The timing of this is horrible.  It was this time last year, when I lost it.  I packed up the kids and we left for five days.  I couldn't take it. We didn't even celebrate his birthday.  Totally ignored it.  His birthday is this week. And when he texted me telling me that he had "slipped" I felt a little triggered.  Is 2014 going to be just a repeat of 2013? I can't do that. I REALLY can't do that.

But I found myself feeling surprisingly okay with it.  Not "okay" with it, like I don't care or like I don't think it's wrong.  But I didn't cry. I didn't get too angry.  The strongest feeling I have felt in the last couple days is just apathy.  And a little bit of wonder at it all.  Am I being too dramatic? What's the big deal? Why the complicated mess?

I have good friends who have been pointing me in a new direction.  It has always been my M.O. to detach and withdraw.  Get to a safe place where I'm unaffected by his choices.  That has worked for me in the past.  But now, as I sit here, feeling a little unaffected, I think I'm going to try something new.  I think I'm going to try to continue this momentum we have.  I want to keep his companionship, I want to hear and share feelings with him.  I don't want to sever our emotional connection.  The physical connection is still out- sorry I'm not that good.

Anyway- I feel like it's going to be okay.  Everything is not lost. All the feelings and changes I've seen still exist, it just means it's not going to always been smooth sailing.  But I always knew that. Right?

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. 

************** 

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.

Though Your Sins Be As Scarlet

Saatchi Online

Late Sunday afternoon Pete and I found a babysitter and drove 45 minutes to a nearby town to attend a baptism.  As we drove west along the highway the low sun was so bright through the windshield I had to close my eyes for a minute. 

I thought back to almost two years ago at a 12 step meeting when my friend, whose demeanor is quiet and dignified, wept about her husband being excommunicated from our church due to the grievous nature of his sins.  She lifted her head for a minute to look us all in the eye. 

"But I think it's going to be a good thing."

It was about a year after that when I met her husband for the first time. He sang at a speaker's meeting for addiction recovery.  He had an amazing voice, and like so many of the men in our lives, when I talked with him I could hardly believe he was the same man who had made those painful mistakes.  Addiction makes soft men hard.  It makes kind men cruel.  It makes reasonable men stupid.  It makes humble men proud. 

The baptism was a spiritual experience I can't adequately give words to here.  But I just want to testify, with my little voice here on the internet that recovery works. 

Recovery makes hard men soft. It makes cruel men kind.  It makes stupid men reasonable. And it makes proud men humble. 

I'm sure my friend would say that the anguish was severe, the journey long, and the forgiveness slow but sweet.  None of us asked for this.  None of us thought this was the life we were choosing when we made our vows. 

But here we are.  And as Pete and I drove home under the full fall moon, I felt my heart overflowing with gratitude.  I witnessed the atonement of Jesus Christ firsthand.  I saw redemption in a man and woman I love like family.  I wouldn't go back if I could.  And I really mean that.  I wouldn't trade these treasures, these experiences, this taste of charity, these relationships for a different life.  I can genuinely say that in spite of everything I love the life I have. 

"When men know why they suffer, and realize that it is for a good and wise purpose, they can bear it much better than they can in ignorance...There is always a blessing in sorrow. They who escape these things are not the fortunate ones."

~Orson F. Whitney

When Did I Get so Mean?

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Last Sunday I watched Pete slip out of recovery.  I could see it happening before my very eyes.  The signs might be different for our addicts but we know them. After cycle and cycle and cycle.  Maybe it's stress, maybe it's angry outbursts.  General irritability with the kids.  I like to use the words "compulsive" and "indulgent" behavior. 

On Sunday he zoned out with Angry Birds on his cell phone.  He skipped his meeting and watched football.  These things filled my heart and thoughts with hurt, resentment, fear and flat out anger.  I banged around in the kitchen and invited Insanity to join me. Finally I couldn't take it.  I threw my own recovery out the window and went after him, guns a-blazin'! 

It didn't go well. He said some of his usual things, things I thought we were done with, and he said some new things.  Phrases like "you've taken this too far" and "what's the point of my recovery if you're going to blame every little thing I do on addiction?!" 

It got to me. I couldn't walk away. I'd taken the bait. I threw "separation" on the table like a winning poker hand and I wasn't bluffing. I played the "safe" card as trump.  I would be safer if we separated because then he couldn't blame me for anything.  (Which isn't true, addict brains can always find a way to blame.) The conversation was intense.

At one point he drew back the curtains to his soul and I saw real pain in his eyes.

It was both heart-breaking and infuriating. 

Finally when we were both emotionally defeated I dropped my weapons and I asked him to sleep in another room. 

Pete texted me the next day.  He owned it.  He apologized. 

A day after that, I had a chat with a new counselor.  (I'm therapist shopping because mine changed her schedule and it won't be able to accommodate me.  Big huge disappointment.)  He validated me.  He reassured me.  He helped me feel sane again. 

I'm asking for a bare minimum in our marriage.  I'm asking for a relationship free of porn.

But I'm also asking for him to show some superhuman strength to earn my trust back.  I tried to think back on a time when someone attacked me, guns blazing, and I responded with patience and meekness.  I nearly always get defensive.  I'm quick to put my guard up.  It sucks to be accused.  Regardless of the truth of the accusation.  I'm human.  He's human.

My therapist drew this diagram on the white board in his office.  (I am so sorry for the poor quality of my diagram. Graphics are NOT my strong suit.)

He explained to me that watching football or playing Angry Birds aren't inherently bad activities.  The pornography addict would say "Why are you so upset, I haven't even acted out?"

But if an activity makes me feel unsafe it has crossed a boundary.  (These terms aren't technical, just words my therapist used to make a point.)  In that first circle I am unsafe because I am that much closer to the second circle.  Pornography and mastur-B are the second circle.  They are boundary violations.

It was okay for me to tell Pete that I wasn't comfortable with his behavior, that it made me feel unsafe. 

But I've been telling people lately that I believe anger is okay as long as it isn't used to mistreat people.  I DO believe this.  But apparently I misunderstood my own advice.  I mistreated Pete.  I was cruel and aggressive. 

I am so glad I've learned to trust my gut. I'm so glad I've been able to relinquish any responsibility for Pete's addiction. But sometimes I worry that I've swung on the pendulum too far to the other extreme. I exempt myself from any misbehavior.  I get a free pass because I'm the victim. 

But the bottom line is, no one feels good when they are cruel or unkind.  Victim or not.  Justified or not.  And, in that sense, I'm a little concerned about the person I'm becoming. 

BAM! TRIGGER!

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I used to say that I'd never experienced triggers.  I hadn't experienced them in the way I had originally thought of them.  As trauma-inducing reminders of past despair. 

But then I started hearing the word trigger in other contexts.  A trigger was an annoying observation that might remind me of my husband's addiction.  Or a trigger might be something that causes me to slip back into codependency.  Some other triggers were things that were bothersome because they were temptations for my husband, or situations that portray happiness and joy that I find lacking in my own life. 

Those were the things I began to accept as triggers, and cope with them accordingly.  It was manageable. 

Then on Friday night I experienced a trigger that was in fact like a tidal wave from the past, of the feelings from my moments of deepest anguish.  It was overwhelming. It lasted all evening. And the moment I was able to, I burst into tears, reliving the grief of disclosures, the shame, the fear, the embarrassment and the desperate longing to believe that it wasn't true.

I can't share the details of the trigger.  It involves personal details about a family member, and even though this blog is anonymous the internet is a sneaky place, and I really don't feel like throwing this person to the wolves in the off chance someone I actually know reads this. 

But I mostly worked through the feelings. Pete was supportive and kind.  I don't think he understood, but he knew he didn't understand, and that helped. 

A couple days passed and last night the subject came up.  Pete went from being supportive to being a man.  It's hard to explain without offering details, but the conversation ended with me screaming these words at him.  (Or something to this effect, I can't quite recall what I actually said in the moment.)

"I'm so tired of living in a man's world! Where men keep other men's secrets.  Where someone is always there to hold the hand of the addict, pat him on the back, encourage him along his way.  Meanwhile the woman is in the dark, oblivious to the trauma that awaits her, and then "hushed" into secrecy as she tries to cope!  If it's none of my business, then it's none of your business! And we can all go on our way, ignoring it, brushing it under the rug, letting it thrive in its taboo-induced silence where things will never change!"

This time the trigger wasn't sadness.  It was all-out rage.  I was on fire. My heart was pounding and my hands were shaking.  I grabbed the car keys and drove away vacillating between sobs and shouts of fury.  It felt like the same hellish nightmare that I'd endured on my bathroom floor, time and time again two or three years ago.  I felt trapped.  Alone.  Desperate. 

With the help of good friends I'm finding sanity again.  But I'm also giving myself a day to be angry. Because the truth is, TRIGGERS SUCK.  And sex addiction is everywhere, and so painful. And change is slow.  And men have fear too. 

And it is tormenting to feel unheard and unseen. 

The Heart Of The Matter

I had so many thoughts tumbling around in my head.  I was trying to make sense of one, to mold it into a coherent blog post, when Pete came in the room.  Seeing what I was up to, he informed me that his sponsor blocked my blog (on Pete's computer) via his "Net Nanny."  I get limited info these days about the workings of his sponsor, but he did tell me that he finally found some software that was compliant with his employer's computer/internet policy.  His sponsor manages the filters for him.  Apparently my blog was "a drug for his emotional dependency."

Honestly I'm not sure what to think.  It's weird to not really be sure if he will ever read this.  I've grown so accustomed to writing with him over my shoulder - so to speak. (Not literally.)  His work computer is really the only computer he has access to. 

Anyway.  That mini-conversation added even more thoughts to the mix and now I'm sure I can't compose anything coherent. 

BUT!

THIS!

This is very important to me.  Please watch.  Please donate.  I opened my own bank account a couple months ago.  I've been saving to establish financial independence.  But I think I'm going to drop a fat wad on this project.  I really believe in it. 

Let's get real

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Recovery nurtures honesty.  I'm not talking about honesty in terms of accurately reporting facts, although recovery nurtures that too.  I'm talking about honesty with my intentions and my desires. If I'm being honest with myself I need to admit that my last post was just a more subtle way of getting validation. 

Regardless, I appreciate so much your words of support and compassion.  I feel strong again, and I feel like we can all do hard things, especially if they are things that will make the road more clear for those coming behind us.

So here is part one of my remarks (too long for one post) to the leadership of my stake. My stake president wanted me to share how recovery has helped me, particularly the 12-step program.  I tried to do this while also shedding some light on how Pete's addiction affected me.

*********************

In Finding Nemo and Wreck It Ralph, Pete and I laugh longer than most during the 12-step support group scenes.  It’s our world, we get the jokes, and our laughter is a sign of how far we have come.

It was nearly two years ago when President ----------  encouraged us to attend the church’s support group meetings.  With knots in our stomach and sweaty palms we walked through the doors of our first meeting. 

I don’t recall now what I expected to find at those meetings.  Maybe angry, embittered wives, or maybe other women like me, self-righteous and determined to fix their husbands.  But what I actually found were compassionate, charitable and humble women, seeking the Savior.  The meetings are safe, I made immediate friends and felt the reassurance I was not alone.  I found validation and encouragement and hope. 

Each time Pete confessed to me, and having the realization that we were dealing with addiction was traumatic and devastating.  My self-esteem was hurt, I felt inadequate.  I felt betrayed by his behavior and confused about who he was and the reality of our lives.  I was incredibly lonely, afraid to share our secret and seek support.  I felt stupid for being blind to signs of his behavior.  I lived in fear and anxiety about the future, and I took responsibility for his addiction and began making rules for him and trying to manage his choices.

I want to share how the 12-step program helped me to cope with Pete’s addiction, and how it helped me as an individual to understand the atonement and faith. 

Step 1: says that I “Come to understand that I am powerless over the addiction of my loved one.”

Coping with Pete's addiction in a healthy way began with me learning about codependency.

The best definition of codependency I’ve read is simply my happiness and peace being dependent on Pete’s behavior.  His addiction sent me into a tailspin of insanity and intense emotions.  Although I was reluctant in the beginning to accept a “label”, I soon realized how harmful codependency was.

In addition to feeling like my emotions were unmanageable, my codependency manifested itself in unhealthy behaviors like persecuting, shaming, nagging, etc.  I sobbed and begged Pete to change.  I guilted him and shamed him.  I gave him the silent treatment and the cold shoulder. I withheld my love.  It is not in my nature to get angry, but I’ve had very angry moments. 

I did these things because I didn’t know better.  Finding my own recovery, using the 12 steps, attending a support group and having a counselor have helped me learn a new way to deal with my intense feelings and a better way to treat Pete without enabling him.   

In steps 2 & 3 I come to believe that the power of God can restore me to spiritual and emotional health, and then decide to turn my will and my life over to the care of God the Eternal Father and his Son, Jesus Christ.

I've realized that faith isn’t just believing in God, it is believing that God will care for me and facilitate my happiness no matter what happens in my marriage or what the circumstances are in my life.  Faith isn’t believing that God would remove my trials, but give me an endowment of spiritual strength to get through them. 

I was used to living in fear. Fear about the next relapse, fear of people finding out, fear of infidelity, fear of divorce. I learned that I could surrender my fears about the outcome of Pete’s addiction to God.  We like to say “Breathe out fear, breathe in faith.”

A few months ago Bishop ---------- gave a lesson in a combined priesthood/relief society about how the atonement applies to the victim.  I’ve certainly had need for the atonement as a sinner, but until this experience I didn’t understand how the atonement applied to the anguish I felt as the victim of someone else’s sins.  The 12 steps are truly a step-by-step course with practical application about accepting the Savior’s gift of the atonement to relieve me of my pain and despair.  It isn’t my job to punish Pete, nor is it my job to save him.  What IS my job is to let go of my disappointment, hurt and grief in exchange for forgiveness and peace. 

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. 

Conundrum

Saatchi Online

Two years ago Pete and I concluded that he had an addiction to pornography.  He took a couple tentative steps toward recovery and I jumped right in.  Adamant that I was only trying to fix myself, and not him, I embarked on my recovery journey.  It has been life changing and I’m no longer the person I was.  But in the last couple months I’ve felt confused. 

“What the heck? After everything I’ve done in the last two years, why is my husband still looking at porn and masturbating?”

I’ve set boundaries and enforced them. I’ve set them and buckled on them.  I’ve seen a therapist, I’ve attended 12 step meetings and worked program.  I’ve done a 30 in 30 and I’ve had various sponsor figures.  I’ve been on a forum and Facebook, I’ve met other WoPA in real life.  I’ve read books and articles.  A new bank account.  Pack-up-and-leave with the kids for the weekend.  Opened up to friends.  Asked for blessings.  Doubted my faith. Found it again.  Detached in a million different ways.  Sexual abstinence.  Sleeping in separate rooms.  Counsel with the stake president. 

“What the heck? After everything I’ve done in the last two years, why is my husband still looking at porn and masturbating?”

I’ve given advice to other women to “Put their foot down”.  No more enabling.  No more tolerance.  No more acceptance of this unacceptable behavior in my marriage.   I’ve gathered evidence and watched Pete’s valiant (at times) efforts at recovery.   

The next logical step is separation right? It’s the only “boundary” I haven’t tried, right?

The truth is, I don’t want a divorce.  The truth is I don’t even want a separation.

I guess the awful truth is, I AM willing to live in a marriage with pornography. 

This makes me feel weak and pathetic.  It makes me feel like I’m enabling his addiction.  This makes me feel like a hypocrite. 

I used to boast that I would no longer accept a mediocre relationship.  And here I am, openly admitting to you that I am accepting a mediocre relationship.  And sadly, at this point it’s worse than mediocre.  It is sapped of connection, vulnerability and affection.  It is apparently the only safe way Pete and I can coexist in this addiction infected marriage. 

“WHAT THE HECK? AFTER EVERYTHING I'VE DONE IN THE LAST TWO YEARS, WHY IS MY HUSBAND STILL LOOKING AT PORN?”