Fear of Crappy Emotions

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

Buy this print here. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It Really IS All About Love

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For reasons that I’m sure stem back to my family of origin, I used to be a sinner-phobe.  I became wildly uncomfortable with friendships that involved people who didn't see exactly as I saw, or who made choices I couldn't understand.  I surrounded myself with people who were practically just like me; good Mormon friends who never talked about anything REAL.  And in the meantime I was completely denying myself any opportunity to understand what it really meant to love someone who wasn't a family member.

Then a friend of mine had an affair.   There was a distinct moment when I was sitting in my car outside her house prepared to go inside and COMPEL her back to being just like me, when I had a strong impression to NOT do that. 

Then my husband spiraled into his pornography addiction and I had to learn how to live with, be married to, and love a sinner. *Gasp*

Before actually having any people in my life who made spiritually debilitating decisions, it was so easy to sit in church and rattle off platitudes about “hate the sin, love the sinner.”  Whereas in reality I found myself incapable of setting aside my fears, insecurities and self-righteousness to truly love "sinners" (read: people who aren't just like me).  And I’m not just talking about adulterers and sex addicts.  This naive and pious goody-goody had trouble accepting people and feeling genuine charity toward much less grievous offenders.

Then one weekend I met up with a group of women who were everything I was afraid of.  They cussed and they used phrases like “blow-jobs.”  They weren't virgins before marriage or they weren't sure they had testimonies at all.  They turned my world upside down because they were the best friends I had ever had.  Without any deliberate effort, my heart changed.  Immediately I could love them, which opened my eyes to the possibility that I had never really known how to love.   

And then it happened again, and again.  At camps and events and through emails.  My heart began brimming over with what I really believe is charity, for all different types of people.  And it has been the most fulfilling experience of my life.

I recently finished the book The God Who Weeps.  It was the second time I’d read the first four chapters, and they were a spiritual journey for me.  But it was the first time I had read the fifth and final chapter.  I finished it on an airplane, flying through the skies on my way to New York, and when I closed the book I wiped away tears of gratitude and insight. 

T. and F. Givens laid out with perfect clarity why my relationships with my WOPA friends have changed my life.  We are relational creatures.  Our greatest happiness comes from meaningful friendships.  When we are most loving, we make ourselves vulnerable to pain.  Our faith is nothing when it doesn't motivate us to consider our obligations to our fellow humans. 

“However rapturous or imperfect, fulsome or shattered, our knowledge of love has been, we sense it is the very basis and purpose of our existence.

What we may have thought was our private pathway to salvation, was intended all along as a collaborative enterprise, though we often miss the point.

When we find we have attained our authentic stature, and only in such authenticity, will we be free to engage in relationships with authentic others.  As we engage in those relationships, we find once again that the perfect community of love enhances, rather than diminishes our differences. Love is what occurs in the face of difference, not sameness…

The divine nature of man, and the divine nature of God, are shown to be the same – they are rooted in the will to love, at the price of pain, but the certainty of joy.” 

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. 

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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.  

Our Gift

At long last recovery was taking hold for Pete.  And I felt like a plastic swimming pool on summer day, filling and filling with fears of vulnerability and emotional reconnection.  Wise people told me, “you’ll know it when you see it.”  And I saw it.  And I knew it.  But knowing he was in true recovery didn’t erase the trauma and distrust. 

Okay- he’s doing better, but what now? Can I love him again? Can I connect with him again? Can I ever have sex with him again?

I felt stalled out and stuck.  A few therapy appointments were helping me but the progress felt infinitesimal.  I wanted it, but I couldn’t resist slamming the proverbial door in his face whenever I didn’t get my way. 

Then something came along.  An opportunity for Pete, and me, and our family.  Something we’d talked about and dreamed of in the early days of his career. 

It caught hold.  It took flight. We started talking.  We were excited.  Ideas, dreams, hopes, feelings began to pour out of me.  And he ate it up. He listened, and like he always has, worked and made phone calls and sent emails to execute my wildest ambitions. 

We researched, we laughed, we exchanged giddy texts and eager phone calls. 

My faith still lacks the gumption to notice God’s hand in my life on a consistent basis.  But for once I see that he has undoubtedly given us this gift. 

It is a gift.  It has been the ice breaker of all ice breakers.  It has destroyed the awkwardness and hesitancy that held me captive.  It has reignited a shared goal inside us that has brought us together again.  It has given us pillow talk and passion.  My fervor and longing for this opportunity has trumped my pride and stubbornness.  We couldn’t do this if our marriage was rocky.  We couldn’t do this if Pete wasn’t in recovery.  We couldn’t do this if I couldn’t decide that I was committed to him.  As much as I wanted it, I wasn’t blind to those facts. 

As the holidays upon us I felt overwhelmed with gratitude for this life-changing gift.  A healing balm for my wounded marriage.  After Pete and I had done all we could do, after we put forth our efforts and reached out for help, we needed something more. 

And God gave.  

Happy New Year everyone.  Cheers to a 2014 that brings us all a little more peace and emotional safety. 

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."

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. 

Lean into the Pain

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

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

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

We are such complicated creatures.

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

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

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

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

Today is a cloudy day.

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

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What did I do last weekend? See here.

GNO

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Last night I sat around with five of my friends and ate yummy food.   At first we talked about kids, epidurals and our paranoia of a man hiding under our car at night, ready to slit our achilles and steal us into the wilderness.  Ya know, the usual fodder for GNO conversation.

Then the conversation took that inevitable turn, where everyone shares their story of distant relatives who were sex addicts or "so-and-so's" husband who went to strip clubs on business trips.  It was full of drama and shocked disbelief as it usually is.  In my mind I thought of all of you and wished they could see your faces and know your stories, acknowledge the humanity of our husbands and stop treating our lives like an episode of SVU.  I listened in silence, but it felt like the tremors that come before the earthquake and my composure felt unsteady.

Then it turned again.  To breast augmentation.  Sitting next to me, Rachel went on and on about her amazing boob job.  (She really does have an amazing body.)  This was fine, until she said something that triggered me so badly I had to get up off my seat.

"On our way home from the initial consultation with the doctor Josh and I got into a huge argument because he said I had chosen a size that would be too small."

I once saw "Josh" at a PASG meeting, over a year ago.  I told him he could tell Rachel I was there, Pete was there too.  I always assumed he had told her.  I used to daydream that she would call me, or come sit at my house and we would commiserate for hours and become best friends.  She never did call.  And now, here she was sitting next to me and ridiculing "women who look like flat-chested boys" and seeming perfectly okay with her porn-addicted husband's demands of her chest size. Why didn't I feel okay with it?

I took my dishes to the sink and the tears threatened, and before I could hold them back I bolted out the front door, mumbling an awkward thank-you to the hostess.

I drove to an empty parking lot to cry it out and make some effort at processing what had just happened.  I realized a couple painful things.

1.  I have beautiful friends.  But none of them are the "lusty" type, in attitude, in dress, in figure, in appeal.  I've never felt threatened by my friends.  And as humiliating as this is to admit, I've always felt like I was more attractive (at least to Pete) than any of my friends were.  Suddenly it occurred to me that I was totally threatened by Rachel.  None of this is her fault, it is all based in my insecurities about myself and my relationship with Pete.  But the hurt was magnified by the unfounded expectation I had nurtured for months that Rachel was supposed to be my loyal WoPA companion, not a competitor in the game where men's attention is the prize.

2. I know other husbands have been totally honest with their wives about specific women they lusted after.  I was in complete denial that Pete lusted after women in our "real" life.  It was one thing to cope with the idea that he fantasized about women on the computer screen, but I never thought he fantasized about women I actually knew.  When I finally came home last night I knew I was in a bad place and had no intention of sharing it all with Pete.  But I had to know, so I asked him if he fantasized about women I knew.  He admitted he had.  That was enough for me.  I didn't ask for names.  I knew I wasn't strong enough to have my relationships with those women remain uninfluenced with that knowledge.  But it was a new, bitter pill to swallow.

This morning my eyes are puffy and I want to stay in bed.  I have to go to church and face some of the women who I totally humiliated myself in front of last night.  I have to see Rachel and try to undo the damage I've done in my head about her. 

New boundary.  The only safe Girl's Night Out for me right now is a 12-step meeting. 

The Real Connection

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The other night Pete and I were being totally inappropriate and speculating about people we knew being sex addicts.  Eventually it got to our family and we started going down the list.   Now let me say, these days I'm so jaded it would take a lot to shock me with a sex addict exposé .  But when it came to my brother both Pete and I figured he was clean.

"No way he's a sex addict."  Pete said. 

"I agree, but how are you so sure?"

"He makes the real connection." 

Apparently that's a term they use in SA.  The elusive "real connection."  And it's true.  My brother really connects with people.  He really cares about them. He keeps in touch.  He loves and forgives.  He is unselfish enough to thoughtfully consider someone's feelings, and feel genuine compassion and concern.  But also he opens his heart and lives with appreciation for the care and kindness he knows others have for him.  He is the only member of my family I have ever considered confiding in. 

I think Pete and I are both heartbroken that we don't have a real connection between us.  For so long we have looked to each other to meet our needs.  [Forgive me Harriet!] But we have expected so much of each other and been so hurt.   I wanted his recovery so much it consumed me.  And he wanted my love and admiration so much he felt crazy.  And, for the last few months, we have both been incapable of offering what the other was so desperate for. 

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Almost exactly one year ago this weekend my heart raced as I exited the plane and stepped nervously out my gate.  From across the walkway I saw a the back of a familiar blonde mane and heard the familiar excited voice of my friend Mac as she approached.  I was vulnerable and humble.  I was frantic for a real connection. 

For the next two days I feasted on real connection. 

With Camp Scabs approaching I find myself feeling that familiar nervous and vulnerable feeling.  But I am confident that once more as I sit around the table with real and amazing women I will yet again watch my cup overflow with love and genuine affection. 

Never were friendships born and matured faster, never were hearts more open and accepting, never have women been so bonded as WoPA. 

God has given me real connections to emotionally sustain me while I repair my relationship with my husband. 

The finale of Les Miserables evokes strong emotions in me.  Together, Valjean, Fantine and Eponine sing these words. 

Take my hand
And lead me to salvation
Take my love
For love is everlasting
And remember
The truth that once was spoken:
To love another person is to see the face of god.

Making a "real connection" is truly the most healing, most therapeutic, most divine feeling I've discovered.  On my worst days, I can always take solace in the love (and humor) of my dearest friends.  Strip away fame, strip away power, strip away wealth.  Experience addiction, death, privation, and ridicule.  Eliminate beauty, intelligence, and skill.  And between two people can be exchanged something so powerful yet simple, we all become equals. 

That is the real connection. 

Expectations

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I have a sister in another city who has a gift for making me feel like pond scum.  I know she loves me, and occasionally she writes me thoughtful messages even expressing the ways she admires me.  And yet, nearly every time we get together she says something critical or condescending that knocks the wind out of me, emotionally speaking. 

Surrounding these painful and often awkward moments there are fantastic memories.  This same sister also has a gift for making me laugh, and when we were kids we would always get the giggles at family prayer. When we get together we can talk for hours and we understand each other in a way only siblings do. 

But each time after our separation I am haunted and hurt by whatever cruel thing she said to me.  I weep over my disappointment that my sister, who is supposed to love and cherish me, could be so terribly unkind. 

"Each time you approach a visit with your sister, with the expectation that she is going to be sensitive to you and masterfully overcome her character frailties and personal insecurities that cause her to be unkind, you will likely be painfully disappointed when she inevitably says something judgmental."  says my counselor.

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In AA they say that an expectation is a premeditated resentment.

I know that when it comes to the language of addiction, a lot of it is just semantics.  But my "expectations" are killing me.  I'm done with expectations. I'm done "expecting" people (including Pete) to be a certain way or "expecting" them to meet my needs.  I love the Courage to Change book, and this articulates me feelings perfectly.

"Turning to an alcoholic for affection and support can be like going to a hardware store for bread.  Perhaps we expect a "good" parent to nurture and support our feelings, or a "loving" spouse to comfort and hold us when we are afraid, or a "caring" child to want to pitch in when we are ill or overwhelmed.  While these loved ones may not meet our expectations, it is our expectations, not our loved ones, that have let us down."

And no one fails to live up to my expectations more than myself.  And in disappointment with myself some of my greatest resentments are born.  By releasing myself and the people in my life from my expectations, I can accept them for who they are, today.

"Today the [addict] may or may not be able to give us what we deserve. And no one person will ever offer all that we require. If we stop insisting that our needs be met according to our will, we may discover that all the love and support we need is already at our fingertips."

Don't get me wrong, I believe in boundaries.  I think by changing my mental vernacular to make my boundaries less about expectations and more about myself and my responses to my circumstances, I am more able to let go of my futile efforts to change other people. 

I have a friend who focuses a lot of her recovery on her values.  I'm not totally familiar with this model, but I like it.  And I like it because I can replace my expectations with my values.

Instead of saying to Pete 

"I expect you to attend recovery meetings." 

I can say

"I value recovery.  My relationship with you will thrive when you attend recovery meetings." 

Why does it matter? It matters at this point because I have no control over him.  I can only control me.  And I've already decided how I'm going to live/be whether or not he values recovery meetings like I do. 

I've spent my adult life "expecting" my family to be kind, accepting and compassionate, and been broken hearted every time they have not lived up to my expectations.  I value relationships with kindness, acceptance and compassion.  And I can do my best to offer those things to my loved ones.  But I don't have to let my love and gratitude for my family members be held hostage to my own unmet expectations of them.  

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 So my therapist counsels me. 

"Go visit your sister.  Laugh with her and be vulnerable.  But don't set her up for failure by "expecting" her to meet your criteria for what a sister should be.  Accept her and enjoy her.  When she says something that is cruel, tell her that it hurts. [Boundary.] And then go right on letting her work out her own weaknesses before God." 

(As a side note- if my sister had no redeeming qualities to offer our relationship, or if what she said was unbearably cruel or consistantly negative, I think it would be totally appropriate to not spend time with her as a boundary.  I don't believe that relinquishing expectations means accepting bad behavior.  It just means not trying to change a person to meet my needs. I am blessed with other women and friends who can offer me love and friendship. I can let my sister be who she is, today.)

Taking eachother seriously

Have you experienced H.O.N.Y?  If not, go there now.  It's my favorite place to bask in humanity.

I was really moved by Josh Weed's post the other day.  There is a woman who has in the past made (what I thought were) antagonizing comments on his blog.  But lo and behold, he being the loving person he is, became friends with her.  The whole thing was a real-life example of these words, I'll leave you with. 

“It is a serious thing to live in a society of possible gods and goddesses, to remember that the dullest most uninteresting person you talk to may one day be a creature which,if you say it now, you would be strongly tempted to worship, or else a horror and a corruption such as you now meet, if at all, only in a nightmare. All day long we are, in some degree helping each other to one or the other of these destinations. It is in the light of these overwhelming possibilites, it is with the awe and the circumspection proper to them, that we should conduct all of our dealings with one another, all friendships, all loves, all play, all politics. There are no ordinary people. You have never talked to a mere mortal. nations, cultures, arts, civilizations - These are mortal, and their life is to ours as the life of a gnat. But it is immortals whom we joke with, work with, marry, snub, and exploit - immortal horrors or everlasting splendors.This does not mean that we are to be perpetually solemn. We must play. But our merriment must be of that kind (and it is, in fact, the merriest kind) which exists between people who have, from the outset, taken each other seriously -- no flippancy, no superiority, no presumption. And our charity must be a real and costly love, with deep feeling for the sins in spite of which we love the sinner -- no mere tolerance or indulgence which parodies love as flippancy parodies merriment”

C.S. Lewis

It IS About Sex. To me it is.

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"It's not about sex."

That's what they all say.  But then why is it called a sex addiction?  And why do I feel like there's a beast in my bed, like his addiction is the awkward third wheel? 

I know all addictions stem from some underlying resentment, inadequacy, fear, etc.  And I understand that true recovery requires that the addict address those issues. 

But don't tell me it's not about sex.  Even Pete knows it's about sex. 

I love NPR, and my favorite program (via WBEZ Chicago) is This American Life.  It's an hour long program with extrememely entertaining, fascinating, comical, frustrating stories about everyday Americans.  It elicits strong emotional responses in me, and that's a good litmus test for my entertainment.  For Valentine's Day the program started off with the story of a couple who got together in college.  They were together for 13 years and then when they were both 30 they started talking marriage.  But since they had been each other's only partner for the last 13 years they decided to take a month to "sleep around" and make sure they really wanted to be together.  Spoiler alert: they never got married.  They never even got back together. 

But the part of the story that really got to me was that the guy, who felt such strong emotional connections during sex, found himself wanting to say "I love you" during/after intercourse even when he was having a one-night stand.

It felt so obvious to me.  OF COURSE.  Have we gotten so off-track as a society that we have no awareness that sex was meant to be a means of bonding a couple and making their relationship complete? Isn't that the very definition of consummating a relationship?

I forgot about all this soon enough. Until I listened to a podcast done by really smart people.  Scabs sent it my way, and it rocked my world.  It validated all my feelings about pornography and masturbation.  I can't do it justice, listen to it or read it here.

But here is one [long] quote:

  This is where neurochemistry comes in, too. Sexual climax involves incredibly powerful chemical events that can even be analogized to the effect of powerful drugs. Both make the brain perceive incredible pleasure. Because of neuroplasticity (the brain’s tendency to rewire itself so that a stimulus and its response are closely associated with each other), sexual stimulus will be associated with its incredible neurochemical reward. Some of the chemicals that are released during sex are the same as those released after a woman gives birth. And just as these chemicals help a mother to bond with a newborn child, they also help sexual partners to feel bonded to one another.

   But when sexual stimulus comes in the form of masturbation, completely devoid of the sharing and vulnerability and complementarity of marriage, then the brain can become wired so that it is primarily masturbation that produces the reward, and an individual can become increasingly unable to sexually respond to a spouse. Masturbation and intercourse are simply different. One who masturbates frequently has a very direct knowledge of what actions bring pleasure most effectively. It can be difficult or impossible for a spouse to reproduce the pleasure that a masturbator has learned how to produce on his or her own. Thus, sexuality, if not expressed in the context of a loving and devoted relationship, turns inward and becomes a focus on self. It is spiritually dangerous to use
sexuality for self when God intends for it to be used to help us overcome our love of self.

Even if he wasn't meaning to, even if it was on a subconscious level, Pete was resenting the fact that I couldn't do exactly for him what he wanted.  He felt totally entitled to all the pleasurable (in terms of neurochemistry) experiences porn and masturbation brought him.  And when I failed to provide those experiences for him - which I often do because it's hard to feel emotionally connected to an addict- he got more resentful of me.  It is another nasty cycle.  I had my resentments too, and they were all about sex.  I hated it.  And more I hated it, the more I could see Pete's disappointment in me. 

I get what they mean when they say it's not about sex. I really do.  But pornography and masturbation addiction took sex as I knew it, or at least as I idealized it, and made it hideous.  It was like someone put my favorite entree in front of me, and then heaped a spoonful of dog poo in the center of the plate. 

"Just eat around it.  The rest of the food is delicious, just avoid the parts that touch the fecal matter."

Thankfully I've got a stellar therapist.  And if I say it's about sex, she listens. 

The Cycle

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Ordinary Time:

In the Catholic church there are two seperate periods of time made up of several weeks, that in fact constitute the majority of the year.  These periods are called "Ordinary Time."  They are the weeks in between the celebrated parts of the year. (Easter, Christmas, Passover, Lent, etc.)  They are seasons of neither feasting or penance. 

The largest part of Pete's (and mine by association) addictive cycle is ordinary time.  It is chaotic dinners with our young brood, Friday night dates with sushi or mexican.  Our ordinary time is full of conversations about how to handle our six year old wetting the bed or if its time to buy a new minivan.  We work together on mediocre landscaping and refinishing furniture.  We laugh and watch Neftlix with bowls of popcorn.  We have sex and I talk to him late into the night until he can't keep his eyes open. 

Scott P. Richert says

"Many people think Ordinary Time refers to the parts of the Church year that are unimportant. But nothing could be further from the truth."

So goes our ordinary time.  It is the brick and mortar of our marriage. 

PRT- Pre-relapse Tension:

Another, less used, term for PMS is Premenstrual tension. We are all familiar with the atmosphere of PMS. 

"Say or do the wrong thing and I'll bite your head off." 

Ordinary time evolves into PRT time for Pete.  It's walking on egg-shells and general grumpiness.  It's during this time that Pete and I have that same bloody conversation that has become a fixture in the cycle.  Pete used to get really angry during this time.  But he's made progress, and even though the same elements are there (blame, victimization, minimizing), he rarely raises his voice at me. 

I thought this quote about PMS was appropriate.

"PMS is better thought of as an aggressive messaging service, our body’s way of trying get our attention to make changes and get rid of things that don't sustain or suit us anymore."       

(Yes. I just compared my husband's addictive behavior to PMS.)

It's during this time that I find myself thinking

"Oh just do it already.  Just get your fix so we can move on to the good phase."

Fixing:

I don't mean fixing like repairing, I mean "fix"-ing like indulging in an amount or dose of something craved.  It's a made-up verb for a slang definition of the noun "fix." (That was a waste of your time. I should have just called this phase "Relapse.")

Call it whatever you want.  Slipping, acting out, lost battles, lust-fest, binge, all of the above. 
This phase isn't pretty either.  Pete is discouraged, irritable, anxious, physically distressed.  It's ugly.

Then, like how Scabs describes eating all the crap you want the night before a diet, so the next morning you feel so sick you are motivated to start fresh, he hits bottom. 


Honeymoon:

This is the good phase.  Or at least it used to be.  Now I'm jaded, and rather than being genuinely grateful for this period, I exploit it, and turn Pete into my humble and subservient slave. 

Let me be clear that Pete is not violent toward me. But my counselor pointed out that he lives out the Honeymoon phase similarly to the way an abuser does. 

During this time Pete is extra helpful around the house, remorseful and kind, patient with the kids.  He does dishes and changes diapers with enthusiasm.  He attends group meetings, works recovery steps, visits with the bishop and reaches out. 

According to the cycle of violence, the honeymoon is an opportunity to compensate for the misbehavior.  But Pete explained it to me differently.  He says during all the other phases, he feels emotions building up, but does not cope with them appropriately.  Acting out with pornography and masturbation is his way of releasing, purging and medicating his feelings.  Totally unhealthy and inappropriate? Yes.  But it does get him to a place where there are no more bottled up resentments or festering frustrations.  It makes him emotionally capable of being compassionate and unselfish, where he isn't capable of being during the previous two (three?) phases. 

But, this story is no mystery.  Ordinary time ensues.  And then tension.  And then more medicating.  'Round and 'round.  Each phase can last anywhere from a few days to a few weeks.  It is totally unpredictable it its consistency.  It makes me crazy. 

I am enough.

"I am imperfect. I am wired for struggle. I am worthy of love and belonging."

We walked into the gymastics complex and my energetic daughter bolted for her class. I walked past my usual place on the chairs, separated from the group of moms who had been coming much longer and seemed to know each other well. I was usually content alone, content to watch my daughter or read blogs on my phone. But deep down I knew the reason I was avoiding the mom group was shame. Or at least, shame as Brene Brown defines it; "the fear of disconnection."

What if they reject me? What if we have nothing in common? It is much safer over here alone.

If I waited until I was the person I wanted these women to think I was, before I tried to initiate a friendship, I would wait forever. So I took a seat next to the mom-group in an effort to take a risk and include myself.

For an hour I tried to make eye contact and laugh at the jokes. For an hour I was [for all intents and purposes] ignored. I don't think these women are snobs. I don't think they were deliberately excluding me.

The result of my experiment? I felt humiliated. I did not feel loved or worthy. My gut reaction was to swear them off, go back to my little corner, build a giant wall to protect myself from any further rejection. But what would that accomplish? Wouldn't it just validate my feelings of inadequacy? Wouldn't it just say "You are right. You are not worthy. You belong over there. Alone." Even though my actions are guided by these defeating thoughts, I don't really believe them. I am imperfect, yes. But I am worthy of connection.

I decided to take another shot. I hadn't actually met my daughter's new coach yet. She is young and beautiful and I hadn't introduced myself because I always assume people think the worst of me, and by default my children.

I am being annoying. She is annoyed that my three year old doesn't understand how to stand in line. She doesn't care about knowing me.

After the class was over I waited for her by the gate. I introduced myself and her face lit up.

"I love your little girl! She has so much enthusiasm. I just love her so much!"

What better reward could a mother ask for than such expressions of adoration about her child? And a connection. I am worthy.

Vulnerability is risky. It is so risky. I thought I got it. A few weeks ago after watching Brene's Ted Talk a couple times, I thought I had it down. I hadn't perfected it, but I felt like I was living authentically, willing to be really seen. Then when a good friend said "love you" on the phone and I couldn't say it back, I knew I was way off the mark.

Vulnerability means

"do[ing] something where there are no guarantees... [being] willing to invest in a relationship that may or may not work out...

I personally thought it was betrayal. I could not believe I had pledged allegiance to research, where our job --you know, the definition of research is to control and predict, to study phenomena, for the explicit reason to control and predict. And now my mission to control and predict had turned up the answer that the way to live is with vulnerability and to stop controlling and predicting."

(Emphasis added.)

It is terrifying. It means that there are unquestionably going to be disappointments, heartbreak, and betrayal. It is counterintuitive. Maybe because we are built for survival, we are built for emotional survival. Protect, protect, protect.

I know I walk around in shame and fear. I automatically assume that unless otherwise told, people are entirely focused on my flaws, and I am ashamed of my flaws. It is much easier to be unseen, to pretend I'm the person I want people to think I am.

Sometimes the reward for courage is disappointment. But sometimes the reward for courage is to really feel, to connect, to be loved and have my worth validated. The real courage and authenticity comes when I let go of trying to predict the results of my vulnerability. I let go of my anxious method of trying to selectively choose the situations where I can guarantee a positive response.

One last quote from Brene (emphasis added)

"To let ourselves be seen, deeply seen, vulnerably seen; to love with our whole hearts, even though there's no guarantee --and that's really hard...to practice gratitude and joy in those moments of terror... just to be able to stop and, instead of catastrophizing what might happen,to say, "I'm just so grateful,because to feel this vulnerable means I'm alive."

And the last, which I think is probably the most important, is to believe that we're enough. Because when we work from a place..that says, "I'm enough," then we stop screaming and start listening, we're kinder and gentler to the people around us, and we're kinder and gentler to ourselves."

Ugh, a post about Charity

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I'm going to skip question #2 for now, and go to #3.

How do I love my family in a way that won't bring out the worst in me?

And to be honest I can't answer that question in a way that says "This is how I love my family."   The best I can offer is  "This is how I should love my family."

The answer, plain and simple, is charity. 

Elder Marvin J. Ashton explained: 

"Charity is accepting someone’s differences, weaknesses, and shortcomings; having patience with someone who has let us down; or resisting the impulse to become offended when someone doesn’t handle something the way we might have hoped."

 

Part of my problem is that I often take this a step too far.  Instead of just accepting my sister's weaknesses and having patience with them.  I dwell on them, I dramatize them, I exaggerate them, all to put myself in a place of superiority.  I become condescending and self-righteous but - *SHOCK* - this doesn't feel any better than being insulted or hurt by her criticism.

 

So I think charity includes a level of genuine compassion, for the ways that my sister's elitism hurts her, whether or not she ever acknowledges that.  I love this quote by Spencer W. Kimball

 

“Jesus saw sin as wrong but also was able to see sin as springing from deep and unmet

needs on the part of the sinner. This permitted him to condemn the sin without condemning the individual.”

 

It is not some inherent inequity between my sister and I that makes me feel less or better than her. It is not that she believes she is truly better than me in some way.  Her unkindness toward me is the product of some deep sadness she feels, and when I am in my most humble place, my heart aches for her, and anyone who suffers. 

 

So why is it so diffucult to feel that way all the time? Or to let those feelings be the feelings that guide my behavior?  Why do I want to withdraw, shut down, retaliate when my family members are unkind to me? 

 

I think the answer is two-fold

 

1. I do not feel close to God, and therefore

2. I feel afraid of rejection, afraid of the opinions of others, afraid of being inadequate. 

These fears, cause me to make choices about how I treat people that I think will protect me from being hurt, and that give me some artifical sense of power over situations, or feelings.  But operating out of fear prevents me from feeling God's love for me and my family members. 

 

Okay, now the good stuff from Danny's emails - (emphasis added)

 

One thing I'm discovering over and over and over again...charity never faileth. It may not fix the criticizer (that's up to them), but it never fails the one who bears the charity by lifting their hearts above the criticism and anger and self righteousness.
 

When you are not operating from Fear/Doubt/Enmity - you will respond better to every one around you, even those who are being critical. You'll find you're not defensive as much (being defensive comes from fear and doubt), and when you're not defensive you won't say things that cause others to be defensive in return. 
 

I made sure my interactions with [people] increased the likelihood that [they] felt faith, hope, and love.

 

Is there anything more Christ-like than deciding to offer your best self to someone who isn't willing to return the favor? And you offer your best self to them....not to show that you are better than them, or above it all, or with the intent to hang your positive interactions over their head, or anything of the sort....you offer your best self because doing so is the only reason you will be able to maintain Unity with God, and it is at the very heart of any joy you do or will receive, and is truly the only way that you can help them (whether or not they want or are ready for that help).

Unconditional love, the kind of love meant for families, love given for the sake of love, for the sake of the way it makes the giver feel whole, and happy, and peaceful.  The love I want others to offer me.

More from Danny-

So what did I discover? That I often didn't need to wait for the love and kindness to return to me from her or from someone else or even at some other time...it was simply in the offering of it that I became free to feel it...right in that VERY MOMENT.  And so, in many ways, what you offer comes back to you the second you give it...if it is given honestly and freely, holding nothing back.

Let me be honest. I am a selfish person.  I am a prideful person.  Sometimes it seems easier to just let myself be hurt and angry, to isolate myself, to build walls in my relationships.  But doing those things will not bring me closer to God, and it certainly will be the demise of good relationships with family members, husband included.

So as cliche as it sounds, true happiness, love and peace come from taking the higher road. Turning the other cheek, but not in a self-righteous proud way, but a sincere compassionate and forgiving way.  A humble way that acknowledges we all have need of love, of God and of forgiveness.