Qualifying My Happiness

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There are a few blogs I read that seem to be all sunshine and roses.  Occasionally the blog author will confess to a disappointment or a bad day, but then it seems they always qualify their negative experience with the words

“But then...”

For example.  “What an awful day, the kids were so naughty and I forgot my appointment and our dishwasher broke.  But then… my amazing husband showed up with Chinese take-out and a dozen roses.”

I feel like on my blog here, it’s a bit more dark clouds and noxious weeds, and occasionally I confess to moments of pleasure, but then I feel obligated to qualify them with “but then… my toddler pooped in his underwear and my husband acted out.”

I’m not quite sure at what point I began to feel ashamed of happiness.  But it seems that now, I’ve spent so much time in self-pity that I’m not sure how to enjoy happiness.  I don’t subscribe to the belief that happiness is the end-all, be-all object of my existence. Rather, I think sorrow and other non-happy feelings are meant to be part of our mortal experience, as teachers.  But as I’ve come to really accept anger and grief as guests at my table, I think I’ve left little room for happiness.

Who am I to be happy anyway? I’m the despairing wife of the sex addict, it is my identity and my role.  I am meant to forever be the pitiable victim.  And yet, even in my moments of martyrdom where I square my shoulders and accept that my circumstances simply are what they are, I’m still not quite feeling real happiness, but reluctant consignment.

Pete and I were discussing last night how this part of our lives can get so bogged down in the negative.  He was saying how his sponsor probably thinks his children are demons because all he ever says about them are his resentments.  And it’s true, I never think to call my sponsor when I’m basking in sunshine and my heart is filled with bliss.  I think to call her when I’m pissed or when I’ve been hurt or when things go wrong.

Lately I’ve been experiencing moments of real happiness.  I really love the place where I am living.  I really enjoy the ages of my children and their blossoming personalities. Even Pete and I are finding some common ground again to try to rebuild a relationship.

And yet each time I feel these feelings of gratitude and joy, I feel something pulling me back, telling me to hedge my bet or keep it to myself.  It’s almost as if I’ve forgotten how to be happy.  I've come a long way in learning how to sit comfortably in sadness.  So why can't I sit comfortably in happiness?

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Post Edit:  As I've thought about this, it has occurred to me that I've spent a lot of my life faking happiness, and now to feel the things I've pretended to feel makes me a little uneasy.  Is it real? Am I being authentic?

Can anyone else relate?

Gratitude crashes the Pity Party

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

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

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

Wait- did she just say grateful?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.  

Making Amends SUUUUUUCKS

I don't know if there is anyone else out there working the 12 steps- if you are- speak up! I'm sinking! I remember slipping into a bad funk when I did Step 4 and it's happening again.  I wish the past really was in the past...

So making amends doesn't really suck. It just sucks if you are a validation junkie like me. I thought (although at the time I would have denied this) if I wrote letters and emails and made phone calls to friends and family members it would be well received.  My sponsor suggested that it might not always go well, and I thought (LYING TO MYSELF)

"Even if it doesn't go well, I'll feel peace. Because I'm taking the high road. I'm the better person."

Barf.

It definitely required courage- but the kicker is, I was sure I would get a great reward.  I sent out four letters about two weeks ago and got zero response.  (And I'm friends with these women on Facebook. Easy enough right?)

I poured my heart into these letters and I was fully expecting something like this

"Jane! Oh my gosh, your letter came today and made my day. It was so sweet.  It was so brave of you to reach out and share those vulnerable feelings.  But girl- don't worry! I've never thought twice about that. You were always a great friend.  Thank you so much for being so thoughtful.  Love, Friend."

Not only was my letter not important or meaningful enough to them (speculation, hypothesis contrary to fact) but it's quite possible they were annoyed by it, or they hate me.

Fortunately, as soon as feelings of hurt and resentment started to surface I recognized them and realized that I had ridiculous expectations. And I was making this about me.  This isn't a self-esteem building exercise from the outside.  It's an inside job.  It's a clear conscience, which is the most loyal friend of all.

It's time to approach Step 8 the right way, instead of turning it into a contrived way of getting recognition.

"There is a quiet, honest place that this Step takes us to, a place of dropping defenses and pride, a place where we shed victimization. We become willing to clean our slate, in peace and honesty." 
(Melody Beattie)

Remembering to Live

Credit

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

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

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

It's time to live again. 

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

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

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

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

J.K. Rowling

Blogging late at night is not a good idea

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Nothing good happens after midnight, my dad would say. 

I would add to that, nothing good happens after midnight particularly after watching four hours of tv drama.  An overdose of TV sitcoms makes me start to think of my life in terms of plot lines with characters full of angst and turmoil. 

To top it all off, I got on Facebook and read a few "real life" blogs.  My nephew is a few months younger than my oldest, and he is thriving in gymnastics and taking piano lessons, my sister reports on the family blog. 

I've done a pretty good job of avoiding self-pity the last few months.  (It's all relative.)  It used to be one of my biggest vices but I'm working on it.  Tonight I crawled in bed and tears of self-pity rolled down my cheeks. 

"Are my kids missing out on life because I've hunkered down? Am I so totally absorbed in my recovery, or lack thereof, that I'm depriving them of extracurricular activities?

Why do I have to deal with this, and my sister doesn't? Why does she get to spend hours at meets and recitals but I'm determined to isolate myself because I'm trying to find some emotional safe ground?"

As you all know, another vice of mine is validation.  And here I sit shamelessly seeking validation. 

It's hard. 

It's hard to drop all the fun stuff in life to try to save your marriage. 

It's hard. 

Now I'm going back to bed, and hoping that things look better in the morning. 

Disjointed

There are 60 unread posts in my Google reader, and that's just my WoPA account. 

http://www.living4impact.com/

I've been in a self-imposed isolation.  We're addicts, and loved ones of addicts.  We know isolation.

My isolation is two parts self-pity and three parts self-reflection, which has actually been productive and yielded some discovery.  Truth be told, I'm having a bit of a crisis of faith, and I see-saw between a total committment to getting to the bottom of it and then a sort of ignorant, blissful apathy.  I take that back, it is actually more like a half-stoned numb pseudoexistance rather than anything blissful.

In other news, it's March.  March is a hard month for Pete.  He thrives on a challenging work environment, which exists for him January-February.  Then in March there is a huge let-down.  His work goes from being super-intense to not-intense and it's easy for him to let loose, get lazy.  I'm finding that some old suspicious and anxious codependent behaviors that I thought I had overcome are resurfacing.  And I just really don't want to go there. 

I can always tell when I'm struggling because I feel like every song lyric was written for me. 

When you're at the end of the road
And you lost all sense of control
And your thoughts have taken their toll
When your mind breaks the spirit of your soulYour faith walks on broken glass
(GREEN DAY - 21 GUNS)

I ran a race this morning.  It was six miles. Three uphill, then three back down.  I pushed myself hard, and got a personal best time.  It felt so good.  Brandon Flowers sang me through my last mile when my body wanted to call it quits. 

And when when the hardest part is over, we'll be here
And our dreams will break the boundaries of our fear
The boundaries of our fear

Emotionally speaking I'm running with a tire tied around my waist.  I want to go faster, I want to push harder but it's holding me back.  I breath heavier, I will myself to ignore the burning in my legs, and still I feel like I'm going in slow motion. 

I know the tire is fear. I know it. 

See ya when I see ya. 

I Haven't Forgotten You

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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