Checking In

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

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

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

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

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

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

  

Living in Recovery

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Gratitude crashes the Pity Party

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

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

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

Wait- did she just say grateful?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I'm PISSED About My Illness

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

“You have an illness.” He said to me.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Getting Well

Saatchi Online Gallery, KwangHo Shin

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Perspective

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.

Part II - Needs, progress, etc.

Pete got really sick on Saturday, and I was mostly keeping a safe distance from him.   At one point I went into our bedroom where he was crashed out on the bed, vulnerable, humble and physically and emotionally broken.  He sobbed as he told me that he was defeated.  He knew he had to surrender the embarrassment he felt when I told people about the reality of our life.  He said that he knew God wanted him to really be humble, but he had no idea how to BE humble.  He said he only had one option, and that was to overcome this, but right now it felt too hard.  He said he knew he was still holding on to control but he didn’t know HOW to let go.

My anger started to soften as he offered a little bit of his soul to me. And I told him about the gaps in my life that I could see had closed.  The chasm from where I once had been to where I was now. And I didn’t know HOW they had closed, just that they had.  And that there were still gaps I needed to close.  I still see an improved version of myself on the next ridge ahead. 

But I believe that he will cross that canyon too.  Someday he will look back at that day in the bed, about the conversations with me, about his fears and shame, and he will see that he isn’t that person anymore.   He might not be able to say when or what changed, but that he is different.

I feel differently about needs now.  I think of them as the tools I use to get from here to there.  I’m careful to define my needs in terms of things I can control.  I can pick them up, and set them down. I can trade them in for new ones.   And hopefully sooner rather than later, I can grow from being told which tools to use, to being capable of managing my own belt. 

I need to have people who are on the inside of my reality. I need to feel loved and accepted. I need support and kindness. I need quality time with people who I can be honest with. I need independence to make decisions without being manipulated.  I need therapy. I need validation.  I need to be SEEN and HEARD.  I need to read about recovery. I need to talk about recovery. I need someone in my family to be gentle with me.  I need friends to go to when I need space from my husband.  I need community.

Discovering Needs and Closing Gaps Part I

This post is hopelessly long and disconnected.  Sorry.

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Credit

I’ve seen and heard a lot about “needs” and “non-negotiables.” I never made a list of my own.  I think it might have been out of fear. What if I write out a list of my needs, and then they aren’t met? What if my list gets trampled on or ignored?  What are my options then? Divorce or insanity?

And I’ve always been a firm believer that it really takes very little to make a soul free and content. 

On Tuesday I opened up to my older brother, who is the most compassionate and gentle member of my family. I’ve wanted to share with him for years and haven’t, at Pete’s request.  When I told Pete, he was upset.  I could see conflict in his furrowed brow as anger, shame and pain overcame him.  He muttered a couple weak remarks and I did my best to listen with empathy. 

The next day he acted out. He fell apart. He isolated and stewed and it caught up to him.  But by some miracle when he confessed to me on Thursday morning about his relapse I was moved with compassion and love for him, and I was able to hear his confession without personalization or grief. 

I thought about that quite a bit, about the space between how I used to respond and how I responded this time.  Somehow, somewhere, some way, I closed that gap. I changed.  I don’t know when exactly it happened or what exactly changed me. But I’m different.

I met with my new therapist that day. He is a CSAT.  (Get one!)  We talked about how it was OKAY that I had shared with my brother.  I needed to do what I needed to do to heal.  And my healing was in the best interest of my recovery, Pete’s recovery and the recovery of our marriage.  He told me to stand up for myself. He told me that when I learned to have confidence in MY needs, I wouldn’t be manipulated by Pete or anyone else.  He asked me to email him a list of my needs. I couldn’t get my head around that.  What do I need to live? Water. Food.  Sleep.  He clarified for me, and suggested that I write what I need for my recovery. 

Ahh yes.  Okay.  I need to be real with people I trust. 

That night Pete and I went to the mattresses about my need to be vulnerable and open with safe people.  I need to share my reality with people who will love and support me.   When he started to throw out words like “inappropriate” I collapsed into an old me.  That me that triggers when he sends any blame my direction. And I was angry.  Why can’t I stand up for myself?

My dear Scabs sent me this message the next day as I was trying to process. 

“[Pete] has been living pretty comfortably as a recovering addict.  He goes to meetings, connects with his guys, connects with you and the kids, and he has you pretty much living and responding to his addiction the way he feels most comfortable.  It seems like its only when you step outside of his prescribed boundary that he freaks out---out of his comfort zone and acts out.  Maybe this is an indication that he has controlled the situation more than you realize. “

She nailed it.  And as I thought about that it made me more angry.  He HAS controlled me in this. He HAS manipulated me in this.  My closest WOPA friends know that this has been a struggle from the get-go for me.  Maybe they remember that first weekend we met when I sobbed about how desperately I needed to open up and Pete had me on a leash.

I was so angry on Friday that I have done so much work to leave Pete and his addiction and his recovery to him, I don’t question or judge or criticize his life anymore.  Which is another gap I’ve closed from how I used to be and where I am.  His addiction AND recovery obviously come at a personal cost to me, I make personal sacrifices.  I’m not saying this to make myself look good, I just realized this week that I really wanted that same respect from him.  If I am capable of doing it, he should be too. 

And tell me, WHY was I able to hear him tell me that he had looked at porn and masturbated without flinching but the minute he tells me how I should or shouldn’t reach out to people, I fall to pieces?

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.

Making Amends to Pete

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My sponsor suggested that I begin making amends with Pete.  Because, ironically, I told her that he was the person I felt safest with. (Or at least he was the person on my list who I was the least nervous about approaching.)

A few things my sponsor suggested about making amends-

-                              It’s not a time to justify or explain your behavior.  It’s not about whether what you did was right or                                 wrong, it’s just an acknowledgement that what you did caused pain.

-                              Don’t go into graphic details, don’t make it lengthy or elaborate. Keep it simple.

-                              Don’t make excuses or assign blame.

I want to be perfectly clear that I’m not sharing this because I think this is the right thing for everyone to do.  As I told a friend recently, the place to do this from is a small place.  It’s a place where I am totally confident that I am in no way responsible for Pete’s addiction.  None of the things I did to him, or none of the ways I mistreated him were the cause of his addiction.  (Despite what he may think…)

And sharing this with him wasn’t something I did to get leverage, or to change him, or to make myself submissive to him or better than him. I did this to clear my own conscience, to take personal responsibility, and to be accountable for bad habits or unkindness. 

Nevertheless, I had a lot of fear about sharing this with Pete.  I worried that he would hear this laundry list of my indiscretions toward him and he would use it to validate his resentments.  I also had a fear that he would see me as less or unworthy. 

But ultimately, because he has a least some understanding of recovery, empathy and compassion, this was a truly healing experience for us. He listened with patience and responded with gentleness.    

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I’m sorry for the times I shamed and persecuted you.  I know I have said things that were deliberately hurtful in an effort to control and change you.  I understand now that shaming and persecuting were harmful to our relationship and probably very painful for you.

I’m sorry for monitoring you, nagging you, trying to find subtle ways to check up on you or make you feel guilty when you didn’t do something I thought you should have.

I’m sorry for manipulating you.  I have flung my pain at you in another effort to control and change you. 

I’m sorry for hurtful things I did in an effort to punish you. I’ve withheld love, I’ve been cold and even unkind and I’ve avoided forgiveness because I felt responsible for making you suffer as a consequence.

I’m sorry for letting your addiction be an excuse and justification for anger, irritability and unkindness. 

I’m sorry for all the hurtful things I said, or ways I looked at you, or condemned you. 

I’m sorry for the times when sharing my experience with others has made you feel humiliated or unsafe. 

I’m sorry for any other things I’ve done to try to control or change your behavior including projecting my fears and desperation onto you, making threats and demands, playing the role of victim to demonstrate how wounded I was by you. 

I’m sorry for saying unkind things about your mom, and for deliberately nurturing your own resentments toward her in an effort to feed my pride and validate my own resentments.  I’m sorry for doing this with other family relationships. 

I’m sorry for ignoring your birthday last year and denying the kids any opportunity to celebrate it with you. 

I’m sorry for compulsive or impulsive decisions I made that were either confusing or painful for you. 

I’m sorry for the pressure I placed on you and responsibility I have given you for my peace and happiness. 

I’m sorry for using shame and frustration to make you feel fearful of me.  I’m sorry for treating you in a way that made you feel guilty about spending money.

I’m sorry for times when I’ve undermined your parenting by intervening for the kids when you were trying to discipline.

I’m sorry for making my own family a greater priority than your family, and for engaging in conflicts about holidays and family time. 

I’m sorry for being deliberately difficult to communicate with at times and from having unreasonable expectations. 

I’m sorry for the things I did before we were married, parts of my past that have caused you pain.

I’m sorry that my epic detachment was the source of so much despair and anguish for you.

I’m sorry for the occasional cutting remarks, sarcastic comments, or unfair “jokes” I make about your addiction that belittle you or discredit your efforts.

I’m sorry for the time I’ve spent in self-righteous indignation and the blame I’ve repeatedly thrust on you for difficulties in our marriage. 

I’m sorry for situations where I have chosen to spend my time or direct my attention to something less important when you were wanting it. 

I’m sorry for all the times I’ve made jokes about you in front of friends or family members that were critical or embarrassing. 

I’m sorry for making assumptions about you that were unfounded or unfair.

I’m sorry for waiting for you to fail just so I could be right.

Keep Calm and 12-STEP On

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POST EDIT: I am currently not reading other WoPA blogs for reasons I'll have to explain later.  But it came to my attention that the 12 steps have been a theme of late in the WoPA blog world.  I just want to be absolutely clear that this post was written with COMPLETE unawareness of this theme.  It is just what happened (seemingly randomly) in my life lately.  Anyway- just another disclaimer. 

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

My old sponsor that I shared my Step 4 with a long time ago texted me a couple weeks ago and asked if we could get together.  I didn’t think much of it, and invited her over.  I hadn’t seen in her in months, my group meeting attendance has waned big time and it seems like the times I go she isn’t there either.  So she came, and we talked for three hours. It was really nice, she lives and breathes recovery and vulnerability. She is honest and wise.  She asked me about how my recovery work was going and I said that I felt like I’d made good progress but I’d stalled out at Step 8/9 and never “finished” the 12 steps.  She encouraged me to get back to it and talked me through some fears and excuses. 

I still didn’t really think a lot of it. But the next morning I was dealing with some hard feelings related to something else, and all of the sudden all my recovery awareness and steps came flooding back to me.  And it felt both familiar and peaceful, and a little nagging at the same time.  The 12 steps have done so much for me, and I’ve let them slip out of my life.  Self-awareness is really hard and painful, but it is also the absolute key to my inner peace and self-confidence.  Self-awareness is like a window into grace and the doorway to a clear conscience.  Taking responsibility for the way I contribute to any misery and frustration in my life is the best way for me to get out from under said frustration.  Own my stuff, surrender the rest.  Relinquish my efforts to control outcomes and perceptions, let go of pride and love people. 

I had a good talk with my therapist about the ways I try to control things in my life and he gave me some good insights.  Sometimes it’s easier to forget my codependency, to live in everyone else’s behaviors and victimize or criticize.  But it’s the way I used to live and I don’t want to be that person anymore. 

It’s always been easy for me to be complacent when Pete is doing well.  But I feel like I've made progress surrendering him to God.  But there are dozens of other relationships in my life that would benefit from the kind of acceptance and recovery that I’ve worked so hard to apply to my marriage.  

Here I go again.  

As For Me...

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First of all- thank you so much for the outpouring of love and support you sent my way via comments, emails and texts.  There is power in solidarity and I FEEL it.  I love you for it.  Sometimes when I comment on blogs I feel small and insignificant.  But each comment here, EACH one, and every email MEANS something to me.  It makes me feel like I matter, I am loved, and people care.  That never gets old for me.

Finding out about lies, and dealing with a relapse after Pete's longest stretch of sobriety in years was hard.

But peeps- I've been doing this recovery business for a few years now and I think it's actually working! It's hard to put my finger on what exactly feels differently about my life.  Especially since I'm STILL dealing with these issues, as much as I've wished them away.

I took a parenting class a few years ago where the gentle, grandmotherly teacher suggested that perfection wasn't the goal of the class.  It was just decreasing percentages.  Instead of yelling at my kids 90% of the time when I was frustrated, the goal was to only yell 70% of the time.  This is how recovery has helped me.  I still have codependent behaviors, I still trigger back to trauma, I still hold a grudge sometimes and I still get angry.   But my percentages are down.

I am less panicked and desperate when Pete acts out.

I am less irritable and anxious when I see my lack of control.

I spend less time in bed and on the bathroom floor.

I personalize Pete's behavior and resentments less.

I feel more acceptance and patience.

Forgiveness comes more easily.

There are so many analogies about perspective.  But I love the words to "Let it Go" from Frozen.

It's funny how some distance, makes everything seem small. 
And the fears that once controlled me, can't get to me at all. 

A couple years ago, even months ago, Pete's pornography addiction seemed like a mountain ahead of me. So HUGE, so overwhelming, so consuming, so terrifying, so traumatizing.  But gradually it looks smaller, takes less of my energy and I find myself being more easily distracted from it.

I wouldn't say that my fears can't get to me at all.  But they get to me less.  And I can spend more time in gratitude and less time in despair.

So I'm doing okay.  Better yet, I think I'm doing well, all things considered.  Thank you again- so much!

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. 

************** 

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.

Happy Thanksgiving

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My family has a tradition on Thanksgiving where everyone writes down a few things they are grateful for and puts them in a glass pumpkin.  After the feast, we pass the pumpkin around and take turns reading them, and then guessing who wrote them.

This year as a joke Pete and I started listing the things we were grateful for that wouldn't be appropriate for the glass pumpkin.  I'll give you the pleasure of guessing which of us said them.

- I'm grateful for the long lasting friendships I've made with sex addicts this year.

- I'm grateful for good therapy.

- I'm grateful that I went to over 200 12-step meetings this year.

- I'm grateful that two of my dearest friends saw their excommunicated husbands rebaptized.

- I'm grateful my husband found people to share his intimate feelings with, when I was incapable of hearing them.

- I'm grateful I can say masturbate without throwing up in my mouth.

- I'm grateful for 83 days of sobriety.

- I'm grateful for spending weekends with strangers and burning lingerie.

********

I know the holidays can be really difficult so I'm shooting rays of love-beams out my virtual fingertips for you.  Breaking routine is often a big trigger for Pete, which means a history of relapses around the holidays.  And of course family...

I hope your Thanksgiving brings you some level of gratitude and joy.

-Jane-

Wreckage

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Pete and I have had the same conversation, in various forms, every few days or weeks over the last few months and years.  It always seems to start innocent enough, him sharing his feelings, or me sharing mine.  (Back when I felt safe sharing my feelings.)  Then, like a funnel, all the words eventually come out into one theme.  It looks something like this. Pete saying to me

"You need help with this."
"You have a lot of baggage here."
"I'm not the only one with problems."
"You are causing permanent damage."

You get the idea. These statements sound terrible when taken out of context, I'm sure when Pete said them they seemed more reasonable.  But to me, they always sounded terrible. I always heard them as isolated statements. 

In the beginning he would say them in anger, he would be downright cruel.  But I learned the signs and when he was angry it was easy for me to see that I was dealing with the addict. Then he had a little recovery and he started saying the same things, but he was calm.  This was confusing, if he wasn't angry then maybe he was being reasonable and maybe he was right.  I would doubt myself, and fall apart.  But I have good support, and I was able to sort these things out.  It wasn't his place to manage my recovery, and even if I was wrong, it wasn't his job to say so.  With more recovery, he is even more subtle and reasonable.  Making me even more confused.  But old habits die hard, and Pete was still victimizing and blame-shifting at worst, managing my recovery at best. 

There are a couple sayings in the recovery world.  "Taking someone else's inventory" and "cleaning someone else's side of the street."   Codependents do this, and addicts do it when they are being codependent.  It's telling someone what they are or aren't doing right in their recovery.  When Pete would do this to me it would trigger me badly.  I had totally relinquished his recovery to him, why couldn't he do the same for me? It is one of my biggest areas of trauma.  I couldn't stand him criticizing my recovery. 

The last few times Pete and I have had these conversations they have ended very badly.  Like me locking myself in the bathroom and sobbing uncontrollably.  A couple weeks ago this happened.  It was the experience I wrote about here.  Last night Pete said something to me that was incredibly validating, and was the kind of compassion I've been waiting for.

He said

"When I heard you in the bathroom, crying like that, I knew that wasn't a manufactured response.  It was something that happened TO you.  It was a trauma response.  And instead of thinking what I would usually think in my addicted brain  'See! See what those WoPA have done to her! See how unreasonable she is!' I thought,

Wreckage.

That is the wreckage of my addiction."

Wreckage is "the remains of something that has been badly damaged or destroyed."  Pete had a moment of clarity when he saw that my total meltdown was part of his wreckage.  My destroyed confidence, my damaged intuition, my obvious emotional instability. 

Pete can't take any ownership of my recovery. It's up to me to sort through his wreckage in whatever ways I want to try.  And I'm allowed to make mistakes.  I feel the same way about his recovery.  I've given him the space to try whatever ways he wants to try. And he is allowed to make mistakes.  He will admit that he has.  Even since that conversation, I have found myself on the bathroom floor again. 

But he can take ownership of the wreckage of his addiction.  And although I don't think my personal healing needed him to take ownership, I think it might be necessary for the healing of our marriage.

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

Therapists

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Today Pete and I had our first joint therapy session.  Our stance on "couple's therapy" has evolved over the years.  When I first suggested it, Pete said

"We don't need that."

I pushed a little and he held his ground.  But I was getting to a point where I KNEW I needed some third party validation.  Fast forward a few months (years?) and Pete started throwing it out there.  I remember saying to him once or twice

"Make the appointment and I'll be there." 

That never happened.  And then came the big detachment wherein I made no effort or acknowledgement of our floundering marriage.  I just lived independently of him.  So he panicked.  And INSISTED on therapy for us as a couple.  But I resisted.

"I'll go to therapy with you when you're well." 

"Well" being defined as exhibiting signs of recovery while obtaining some meaningful sobriety. 

And here we are.  Our appointment today doesn't even really qualify as "couple's therapy."  It was more just me accompanying him to one of his appointments so that his therapist and I could make sure we were all on the same page. 

There are a lot of opinions out there about husband and wife seeing the same therapist (is this good or bad?) and if they see different therapists - whose therapist do they see together?  My own therapist suggested that we see a THIRD therapist when we are ready for counseling together.  But in the meantime either of us are welcome to visit with the other's therapist.  (I never in my life thought I would write a paragraph about my life where I said "therapist" seven times.)

Sitting there on the leather couch I did feel a little bit like an outsider.  It almost felt like Pete and his therapist have a "thing" and I was just a third wheel.  It made me grateful for the "thing" I have with my therapist.  But eventually I felt welcome and Pete's therapist is a great, gentle and considerate guy. 

**As a side note- can anyone else relate to the conflict of emotions- both relief and sheer frustration- about how accommodating and reasonable their husbands are during therapy? Like "What the heck? Where is the guy who said I was crazy? Can I just video-tape our next argument and bring it in and say 'HERE! Help us with THAT!'"

By the end of the appointment we were talking about communication, specifically about "Check-Ins."  I've heard of check-ins.  But part of my detachment made me unwilling to discuss recovery at all with Pete.  This was just the way I did it. I'm not saying I recommend it, but I am saying that it was what I needed.  Total surrender of his recovery.  I didn't want to hear about it. Partially because for so long it was so irritating to hear him go on and on about recovery when he was still acting out all over the place. But also partially because I wasn't willing to discuss anything with emotional undertones. 

So here is - we'll call him Vic- suggesting that we start having check ins.  As we read together through the sheet of suggested topics for said check-ins my eyes filled up with tears. 

"I can't do this." I thought. "I can't share my feelings with Pete.  I'm terrified of him being critical of them."  In the past Pete's addict brain caused him to resent my recovery efforts.  My recovery meant there was something I needed to recover from, which he was adamant there wasn't.  I also think he had a lot of fear about my newfound support community, fear that they all hated him and gave me bad advice.  So now, when I think about talking about MY recovery with Pete, I am terrified. And I'm stubborn.  My safe place doesn't allow me to be vulnerable.

Vic asked me how I felt about this.  I told him.  I don't want to be vulnerable with Pete. I don't want to share my feelings with him.  I'm afraid they won't be respected.  He reassured me that for now, all I need to do is THINK about having these conversations. I don't have to have them yet if I'm not ready.  But he encouraged me to nudge myself a little bit, and we would talk again in a month or so. 

Pete is finally demonstrating recovery AND sobriety.  I am so grateful for this.  But I've accumulated a fair amount of baggage on this journey and it's feeling a little overwhelming as I try to sort through it all and properly dispose of it.

Who could have ever dreamed how complicated this would be? If I were a crusader I would lobby for warnings with pornography.

"WARNING: This material is potentially addictive and hazardous to your psychological being. Participation will likely result in irrational behavior, damaged relationships, short-term and long-term neurosis, and enough emotional wreckage to fill the Grand Canyon. USE AT YOUR OWN RISK."

A week in the life of Jane

It has been a tornado of emotions in the last couple weeks.  In addition to all the confusion and then clarity that surrounded last week, I had made a decision about doing something I felt right about that Pete vehemently disagreed with.  I did it this week.  And it hurt him. 

MONDAY: I shared my (and by obvious association, Pete's) story with someone close to Pete and me.  I had felt strong impressions to do this, and felt that I needed to be honest and real with this person.  It went well, I felt a loving response.  I also felt strongly that by doing what I felt was right, I could confidently trust that God will help me cope with the fallout.  I told Pete what I had done and left it at that, knowing he was going to need some space.

TUESDAY: Pete had a business dinner that night that I was supposed to attend with him.  But the idea of sitting through a celebratory dinner with his coworkers with him oozing hatred out his eyeballs toward me was not appealing.  So I told him as much.  What I said was "If you are angry with me that's fine, but please don't ask me to be your date."  What he heard was "If you don't hurry up at get over this I'm not going to your dinner with you."

We squabbled via text about this all day long on Tuesday.  And then I had a realization. 

Jane- every time you put up a wall, he is going to put up a wall.  (My therapist prefers to talk about doors instead of walls.  Doors can be opened and closed.)  Jane- You have closed your door.  And locked it.  And refusing to go to this dinner is a deadbolt. 

***BIG DISCLAIMER*** Vulnerability with an addict is not always safe.  I get to decide when it's safe. When I'm ready to take a risk and open my heart is my choice with my gut.  Same goes for all of us. 

And it felt like it was time. It felt like I could board up my door and close my heart forever, and get the same response back from him.  All of the sudden I was feeling a desire, a longing, and inkling to open that door.  So I called him. I said

"I want to go to this dinner with you.  But I don't want to sit next to an ice cube."

To which he vulnerably responded.

"I really want you to be there. I won't be an ice cube." 

WEDNESDAY: Pete came home from his meeting and we put the kids to bed. He asked me a few details about my conversation with said person and I answered them.  By now I was thirsty for anything from him.  I just wanted so badly to know what he was thinking and feeling. I could feel old desperations rising up, willing to give up anything to get something back.  But he said he wasn't ready to talk about it yet.  He went into our office to answer emails from work and I started cleaning the house.  I put on some empowering music and got to work.  But I started to feel hot.  It felt like my insides were a furnace burning intense feelings as fuel.  I went out to the porch and sat down.  It's cold at night my part of the world.  But that furnace felt warm inside me.  HOT inside me.  I looked up at the stars and listened to Adele.  (Music is this weird medium that is like a soundtrack to my soul.  It causes thoughts to rush out of me like a bursting dam.)  These were the thoughts.

Jane- (I guess I sort of talk to myself, or imagine God or sanity or some third party talking to me?)

Jane- you have something to offer.  It's time to stop taking taking taking, and start offering.  It's okay, it's okay what you've done to cope, how you've dealt with trauma, the mistakes you've made. It's. Okay.  But it's time to stop obsessing about this.  It's time to give Pete a chance.  It's time to quit feeling sorry for yourself.  It's time.  You're strong.  You're good.  You. Are. Good. 

It's hard to put into words the feelings and thoughts I had. But something clicked and I felt whole. 

THURSDAY: I spent the day doing volunteer work, which as cliché as it sounds, is really so healing.  There is a time and place for service, and it's not during the crisis.  But I am feeling drawn out of my crisis and it was so good for me.  I was still feeling strong and good.

That evening after the kids were in bed Pete asked me to listen as he read something he had prepared about the experience from earlier in the week.  The statement was half-hearted.  He wanted to be over it, he wanted to not be angry, the words said he wasn't but his demeanor felt otherwise.  He asked me that from now on, before I share his story with anyone we meet with a counselor to discuss it.  This bothered me.  I closed my door.  He locked his. I deadbolted mine.  It was a standoff.  We started to argue.  Then he said this

"I'm not the only one with problems in the marriage!"

And I lost it. I walked away. I went in my room and literally closed and locked the door.  Then I went into my bathroom and closed and locked that door.  I was PISSED and I was HURT and I was CONFUSED.  Why is he still saying that? Why is he always blaming me? Why does he insist I'm not recovering the "right" way?  I crumpled to the floor and sobbed.  I hit the wall with the palm of my hand so hard it made my skin sting.  I thought I was strong. I thought I was ready. I thought I couldn't be affected by him like this anymore. 

I heard him knocking on the door.  So I grabbed a bag and shoved some pajamas in it and opened the door.  But he stopped me.  He put his hands on my shoulders, softly, and gently pushed me back until I sat on the edge of our bed.  He knelt down in front me.  With tears in his eyes he said all the things I've been waiting years to hear.

"I'm so sorry.  I wish I could take back those words.  I don't care about being right. I don't care about my pride. I don't want you to leave. Now, or ever. I don't want to lose you.  I love you.  I want to fix this.  I've made mistakes, I'm going to make more mistakes.  I'm learning, but I am giving this my whole heart. I am really trying recovery.  I wanted to handle this the right way and I tried so hard, but old habits die hard.  Please forgive me.  Please. Please. Please."

He went on for about ten minutes before I would even look at his face.  And then he went on some more.  He talked about his pain. He talked about how much it hurt him what I had done.  It was humiliating.  He talked about the last six months and the anguish of watching me pull away from him.  He talked about fears and he talked about recovery.  He was so real.  He was so vulnerable. So humble.  So meek.  So honest. 

After awhile I asked him.  "What stopped you from realizing all these things before, and from sharing them with me?"  He talked about addiction and how it makes chaos in his brain. About how without some sobriety he couldn't see things as they really were.  He talked about how God has given him a sponsor that sees him when he can't see himself.  Like really sees him. 

I realized how healing and helpful it was for me to hear him be honest about his feelings.  But I also realized how he was incapable of doing that for so long.  Yesterday was 50 days of sobriety for him.  That's the longest he has gone in a couple years. 

I don't know what the future holds.  Last night we watched Brene Brown's TED talk on vulnerability and she talked about how relationships have no guarantees.  It's probably a little different with an addict, it takes longer to be willing to take the risk.  But Pete IS in recovery.  I know it.  So I'm taking a leap of faith, and starting the hard road to healing our relationship.  More therapy.  More hard conversations.  And I'm sure many more mistakes and disagreements. 

But I feel hope, and I feel love for this man.  For the work he has done to get where he is.  I caught a glimpse of how painful HIS road has been and I felt a wagonload of compassion. 

And now I'm going to Yoga- and I'm going to hit publish without finding a cool pic and without reading through this.  Love you all for reading-  Jane