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."

Oops

Yikes ladies- thanks for the comments- I actually did not mean to post that. 

It was just a mess of thoughts. 

But I appreciate you giving me more to think about- and hopefully it'll come back in a more digestable form.

Dear Me

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For delivery 8 May 2011 (Mother's Day)

Dear Me-

What an ironic way to celebrate the holiday.  I know last night was possibly the worst in your memory.  I know how hard it was for you to hold your newborn baby in an easy chair in the basement of your grandparent's house.  All night.

Now, with puffy red eyes, and the single Mother's day card you received from you six year old, it's a new beginning.  It is time to face the problem that has been escalating for years. Denial is over.  Reality is here.  It's time to sort it all out.  Take a deep breath.  Lean into the struggle.

For a few months you will try to carry his bag of bricks that has been handed to you. Until you know better, you can't do better.  But then you will learn, and you will pass the bag of bricks on to a Higher Power.  And you will be free to heal.

I know you will turn into a sponge.  I know you will read and read and read. And study and learn and your understanding will grow and your ideas will jumble and resolve, confuse and then clarify.

Because of the way you were raised, because of your hyper-sensitive conscience, and your propensity for guilt, the shame will be overwhelming.  Feel it.  Let it open your eyes and tear down your walls of naivete.  The new world that opens up will fill your heart with empathy and compassion.  Humanity will be different to you.  You have an opportunity to finally discover who YOU are, and let go of everything you've been trying to prove to the world that you were.  You will take the opportunity, and you will be empowered and liberated.

There will be friends. Amazing friends.  They will carry you, they will answer your sobbing, incoherent phone calls.  They will love you and teach you how to love in a new way, you've never known.  Don't be afraid, don't feel inadequate. Their love is unconditional.

It will take work.  You will spend time and emotional energy learning how to cope.  You will have to face your pride and own your vices.  You will make discoveries about Pete, about marriage, about YOU that will feel complicated and hopeless.  Then you will make discoveries that will immerse you in hope.

But it WILL be okay.  If you can't believe anyone else, believe me.  Because I am you.  A new you.  A redeemed and reformed you.  It's not over for me either.  Maybe in a few years I'll write another letter to the "me" that writes this.

In the meantime, buy Apple stock.  And don't buy Facebook stock.

Love you dearly,
Me

P.S. Read Scabs's letter here. 

#isuckatclevertitles

Amazing Art Credit

I've had boundary thoughts floating around in my brain for weeks now.  But I haven't been able to form a coherent thought process.  Marlee wrote a post about detaching and I felt like finally in my comment on her post I was able to spit something out.  So I'll give a little backround, and then paste the comment below.  It's nothing eloquent, but you get what you pay for around here. 

 

At the first of the year Pete was on shaky ground. I was a little bit in the dark about exactly how shaky, but I knew I felt uneasy and disconnected from him emotionally.  Up to this point, we had been trying a method for nurturing our sexual relationship which included sex two predetermined nights a week.  On Sunday night, we each chose a night.  This had been working for awhile, but when addiction started creeping back in I began to feel confused about our intimacy.  I thought about it for several days, and one morning after a long and heartfelt prayer I scribbled the following words on a piece of paper. 

 

"I want a sexual relationship free of lust driven addiction.  It may never be perfect, but it can at least be free of porn.  I want a sexual relationship free of pornography. "

 

That was good enough, but I am not a woman of few words so I scrawled a bit more.

 

"This "2x/week sex nights" is meant to help us establish a healthy sexual relationship, but we can't do that on a faulty foundation.  I need to feel safe.  I need to be confident sexually, to be sure I am not just being your drug, giving you your fix.  We can't use sex to make things better.  Things have to be better first."

 

I didn't give Pete the paper, but I told him in as many words and he responded well. 

 

That's the background. Here is my comment on Marlee's post.

 

I can totally relate to this, except with the roles reversed. For so long, Pete told me his feelings in a way that I felt guilted and manipulated. So then he quit telling me his feelings altogether. But I didn't like that either. I've learned that it is really important for him to share his feelings (ideally in a non-manipulative, but honest and sincere way.) And the way I detach is by hearing his feelings without making it personal to me, or letting it influence me or make me feel guilty.

So we are currently in a period of sexual abstinence and the other night Pete said to me "This is really hard for me." He said more, but you get the point. He said it without any intention of trying to get me to change my mind, or feel badly about what I'd initiated, or apologize or pander. He just said it. And MIRACULOUSLY I was able to listen without doing any of those things. I didn't get defensive, I didn't argue my position, I just heard him. And even understood with a little dose of compassion. "I'm sure it IS hard. Thanks for being patient."
I know that we are both still missing the mark sometimes, but it was definitely a milestone for us.

Resources for All

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When I started writing this blog I knew very little about pornography addiction.

I didn't know that it was so widespread.

I didn't know how other religions viewed pornography.

I didn't know that many people would try to convince me that if I changed my attitude about it, and Pete embraced pornography rather than shunned it, all our problems would be solved.

I didn't even know for sure why I felt the way I did about porngraphy.

So when I started writing, I started with what I did know. I am a member of the LDS church, its teachings influence my life a great deal.  I can't help but write with that underlying foundation.  But my eyes have been opened, and I see that this isn't just a "Mormon problem."

I'm grateful to the women of other faiths who have reached out to me, and lately I've received more emails from non-LDS WoPA than otherwise.  So I just want to post a few resources here to validate ALL women who feel confused about what pornography addiction means.

My friends who have used Recovery Nation give it great praise. I'd like to spend more time in that program myself.

 http://recoverynation.com/

I came across this blog post this morning and thought it was a great Christian approach, with a concise summary of suggestions post D-Day.

Fight the New Drug is a great website, but particularly this infogram.

And lastly, I've mentioned this website.  It is no longer directly affiliated with the LDS church, but it was written by LDS family members of addicts.  The downloadable manual/workbook is the most comprehensive material I've found, but to disclose my bias it is the one I use the most and I am therefore the most familiar with.

Please share if you have found other helpful websites or programs.  My heart is full of love for everyone who has tasted of this bitter cup.  Don't hesitate to reach out.  The friends I've made from this blog are my greatest blessing in this trial. 

Jane attempts a book review

 

Order Online at salifeline.org

 

We are into February now and I'm failing and nearly all my New Year's resolutions. Sigh.  Except I DID give up sugar for a month and I DID read two books in January.  The first was Mansfield Park, by Jane Austen and I loved every page of it.  Since I'm so successful at resolutions, I've resolved to be more like the ever-humble Fanny Price. 

 

The second book arrived in my mailbox with just enough time to finish it in February.  It was this book, by Rhyll Croshaw. 

 

Now for an embarrassing confession.  Up to this point I've never read a book about recovery.  I hope Rhyll and any other authors [who will probably never read this] can forgive give me, but I'm always a bit cynical when people turn their tragedy into a royalty-earning paperback. 

 

Ouch. I know that was awful.

 

But I genuinely believe that Rhyll means to help, and not to financially gain by this.  And like Melody Beattie and others, they have a gift for understanding that blesses many lives when they share.  Including mine.  I really liked this book. 

 

I liked this book because I felt like it summarized in a practical way some of the most important discoveries I've made in the last two years.  And all in one place!  It is straightforward, it is easy to understand.  She articulates well, and I feel like she reaches the common denominator.  It's not written by a scientist, or a journalist, or even a psychologist.  It's written by a WoPA. 

I don't really know what else to say, except don't take my word for it.  Read it.  It's not too long, it's easy to intellectually digest, and you can write notes to yourself all over it. I will share a few of my favorite quotes.

 

"The bar has been raised for us.  We no longer are content with a parallel relationship; we are working towards a unified, synergistic relationship..."

 

"When we have clear boundaries, we will not find it necessary to explain why we are doing something or why we are not doing something."

 

"We must stop being afraid of our addict husbands. We must look up to God with courage and faith. Our Heavenly Father does not condone the behaviors associated with sexual addiction, and He does not want His daughters to enable it."

 

"Forgiveness is a gift that I give to my soul...it is not conditioned upon apologies or restitutions on the part of the offender."

 

And lastly,

 

"Caring for ourselves expresses our appreciation to God by our careful stewardship of His creation - life." 

 

There are several other thoughts I'll probably write about in the future.  But in the meantime, read the book. 

 

 

Post Edit: In the back she has a few pages of what she calls "Road Maps" that I think are really helpful in determining if your husband is in recovery, and likewise if YOU are in recovery. It's good stuff.  

the Tight Rope

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Sometimes it feels like this whole recovery bit is an exhausting balancing act.  Scabs and I noticed that we are always saying to each other "It's a fine line..."  She suggested we write about it. Read her take here.

Each step forward finds me teetering between the "Dos" and "Don'ts" that are coming at me from all angles. 

"Do make him accountable to you, but don't check up on him."

"Do show compassion but don't enable him." 

Or how about,

"Don't ignore the problem, but do detach from it."

Things that could be a contradiction are at the least a fine line. 

What exactly do I mean?

Take self-care.  Super important right? But isn't there a point when you become too self-absorbed, when you've crossed that fine line and you are justifying watching all three seasons of Downton Abbey in one sitting all in the name of "self-care?"  Because isn't it actually service that brings happiness? Looking outside one's self, focusing on the needs of others?

Or how about the fine line between communicating and nagging.  It's so important to have transparency, right? It's necessary to have the hard discussions.  But whatever you do, DON'T nag the shamed addict! Don't check up on him all the time.  Don't guilt him into sharing with you and don't beg for honesty.  Make him accountable for his actions, but don't be codependent about it. 

One last example.  You need to protect his privacy, it's not your story to tell, etc.  But you need support.  Honesty and vulnerability foster meaningful and loving friendships.  It feels liberating to ditch the facade and just be REAL with someone.  "You're only as sick as your secrets" Al-Anon tells us. 

So yeah, I think it is a balancing act.  I think I am walking a tight rope.  And once in awhile I find myself leaning a bit too much to the right and I don't feel safe and I panic.  So I over-compensate and jerk myself to the left, now feeling just as afraid of falling as I did on the right. 

I feel like I need to have compassion for him.  I need to feel love and forgiveness.  But then I feel like I'm being a doormat, and I'm enabling him by trying to protect him from pain, because I love him.  So I come down harder, my heart gets colder, and then I feel hopeless about our relationship because I know I'm being a porcupine.  It's a fine line between doormat and porcupine.

One of my favorite sayings is "The answer is always in the middle." 

"DUH" says the girl on the tight rope.

I think ultimately it takes practice.  It takes a few falls flat on your face and an ever increasing sense of balance that prevents you from overcompensating, giving you just the right touch to adjust when the wind blows or when you falter.  Just like anything else it won't come easy, trial and error teach you to the way to be.  And experience of course.  And then, there you are...

...deliberate, confident, and peaceful.  And all those things create better balance than tension, fear and panic. Wouldn't you agree?

Imperfect People Who Love Me

The woman who I shared my 4th step inventory with is the facilitator in the 12-step meeting I attend.  She was one of the first women I met when I started attending group meetings.  I ought to be careful what I share about her, but she is experienced and loving, and I spent the most vulnerable few hours of my life opening my soul to her. 

It is inevitable that the people we love and admire most will let us down at some point.  Our family members who love us most can often hurt us the deepest.  This is a great disapointment to my sensitive heart, and when I place someone on a pedastal, it can be heartbreaking to see that pedastal come crashing down as their own character weaknesses are exposed.   No one is perfect, and yet I find it a rude awakening when I've been blessed for so long to see only the good in someone. 

Last night in our "meeting after the meeting" I expressed an opinion.  It was about sex.  All eyes were on me.  But no sooner had I finished my sentence than my bold and vocal facilitator squashed it.  She was standing and all eyes snapped to her visage as she waxed eloquent refuting my experessed opinion with (what felt to me) both mockery and reason. 

I felt ashamed.  I felt like a crushed bug.  All eyes were back on me and I searched each pair for some sign of validation or support. 

It must be said that on my way home this dear woman called and offered a sincere and humble apology for the way she had treated me.  But the damage was done.  And soon enough I will forgive, but in the meantime I'm bitterly disappointed.

I told this story to Pete, and lamented the way this woman had changed in my eyes.  He said to me

"Eventually we see that everyone is human, with faults and frailties.  I don't think we can really know anyone until we see that."

I guess the trick is finding a way to let those faults and frailties fill me with more love, rather than less.  I've been reading in the Book of Mormon, about Moroni and Pahoran.  Moroni, the equivalent of an army general was out fighting a war and wondering why Pahoran, the equivalent of a president or king wasn't sending any aid or assistance.  Moroni, who the Book of Mormon regales with praise, writes a scathing letter to Pahoran. 

How painful it must have been for Pahoran to get that letter.  Moroni was his friend, and he wrote words like "condemnation", "slothfulness", and "negligence." And how does Pahoran respond?  Just like I did, says the girl who drove home in a fury and refused to even listen to the voicemail apology until the next morning. 

Or not.  Rather Pahoran said:

"And now, in your epistle you have censured me, but it mattereth not; I am not angry, but do rejoice in the greatness of your heart."  Then he proceeded to give a very reasonable explanation for the alleged crimes Moroni had laid against him.

I know my facilitator friend is so much more than she was in that moment.  I know Pete is so much more than his addiction.  I know that I am so much more than the insecure and self-pitying person who can't tolerate being disagreed with. 

So even if I put people on a pedastal that eventually comes crashing down, it doesn't have to be the end of my relationship with them, better yet it can be the beginning of a REAL relationship, with a REAL and imperfect person. 

I have enough

Credit

Julie is one of my favorite bloggers.  She has a gift for articulating her feelings through words, and when I read her words I am always inspired and enlightened.  Her latest post about gratitude started a thought process for me that has given me a new perspective.  Or maybe a re-newed perspective. 

I hope she doesn't mind me sharing here.

She talks about how a man tried to console her over the loss of her sweet little boy, by reminding her to be grateful that she was able to have a child when so many woman are not able.  His intentions were good, he only meant to help, but she felt there a was a flaw in his reasoning.  She says

"Gratitude is not born of comparison. Teddy Roosevelt said that "Comparison is the thief of joy." I believe that is true whether we are comparing ourselves to individuals we consider to be "above" us or those who seem to be "below" us. Comparison robs us of joy because it forces us to rank ourselves on some imaginary scale of happiness, when no such scale exists. Happiness is not linear, it's not a ladder to be climbed. It is more fluid like water. It moves around us and through us. Sometimes it fills us, and sometimes we thirst for it. "

How often I have thought how I ought to be grateful because my husband's addiction hasn't progressed as far as many other women.  But this reassurances has never felt very reassuring.  My pain has always been real despite the fact that it might be "less" than the pain of another. 

What I have is neither "more" or "less" than anyone else.  Gratitude is not found in focusing on the pain of someone else to belittle my own. 

Gratitude is feeling joy because in spite of everything, I still have enough.  

My pain is real, and comparing my pain to someone else's pain whether to make myself feel more self-pity because my trials are "worse", or to guilt myself into feeling gratitude because my trials are "better" is not productive.  Nor does it foster a healthy, compassionate empathy, but rather feelings of either jealousy or superiority. 

Coping with my pain is part of what brings me closer to God, teaches me, humbles me.  But ultimately living in my pain indefinitely can lead me to be ungrateful.  And by being ungrateful, I mean failing to recognize that what I have, regardless of what others have, is sufficient for my happiness. 

A few more wise words from Julie.
"I don't believe we can rank life's adversity... Watching your child die is hard. It is all hard, it is all pain, and finding respite in someone else's suffering is short lived and ultimately extremely unsatisfying. As I grow older and understand more fully the pain of others my heart aches more, not less. 

Since losing Jonah I have discovered that it is possible to feel gratitude in the midst of darkness. Gratitude brings with it a light and recognition that my life remains full of mercy and grace. "

I frequently fight the temptation to focus on what my life is lacking. It is easy for me to justify myself when I get cranky with my children, because I convince myself that what I have is not enough to make me happy.  But like Julie mentions in her post, I have traveled to an impoverished country myself, and seen joy the faces of people who have very little or experienced much pain.  This doesn't tell me that I SHOULD be happy because they are, it simply tells me that I CAN be happy with what I have. 

Self-Determination

Buy this print here. 

When I was 12 years old I went on a business trip with my dad to San Diego. I remember it well, we stayed in a nice hotel downtown called the Horton Grand. It was charming with white bird cages that had live, brightly colored chirping birds in them. One morning we set out on our way, the weather was beautiful and my dad had planned for us to go to the zoo. But he wouldn't tell me that, he teased and tortured me with suspense about our destination until I couldn't stand it anymore. With a little attitude, and fierce determination I turned around and stomped off down the street. Sure I wouldn't last a block, my dad kept walking, expecting me to rejoin him any minute. But I didn't, and with prepubescent irrational self-confidence, I found my way back to the hotel and patiently watched the birds in the lobby.

Meanwhile my dad flagged down a police officer, feeling horrible for losing his daughter in a large city. Eventually he returned to the hotel and found me there, shocked that I had found my way back so easily, but relieved that I was okay.

Aside from my fickle spite, my dad had only himself to blame. Not for his teasing, which was innocent enough, but for the way he raised me. He raised me to be confident and determined. He taught me I could do what I wanted when I set my mind to it. Throw in a touch of spontaneity and stubbornness and he had created an independent girl, albeit a little feisty.

To this day I still consider myself to be determined and strong-willed. It is only when someone else's feelings are a factor that I hesitate to accomplish whatever task I've set forth for myself. On Thursday when I decided to leave I became set on the idea. It wasn't until I was packing that I thought carefully of how hurt Pete would be to discover his family gone for the weekend. In spite of that, feeling committed to my decision I threw some food in a cooler and we got outta Dodge.

As with most of my goals, it wasn't without it's obstacles. I had to jump through some hoops that were out of my comfort zone in order to make it happen. I had to make some tough phone calls to cancel other plans, drive through a blizzard and put chains on my tires. But it was worth all my efforts and I found satisfaction in my ability to act of my own accord. In fact, once Pete found out we were leaving he did nothing to try to stop me, likely because he knew better.

One of Pete's redeeming qualities is that he has ambition. This was one of the things that drew me to him when we dated. He had a plan, and he worked hard to execute his plan. Like me, once he sets his mind to something he follows through. And more than once it has been his efforts that have helped me to accomplish my own goals.

So I guess this is why I stay. I know that once Pete sets his mind to recovery he will figure it out and conquer. And since he has loyally stood by and given me his best effort to see through my own wild ideas, I feel like I can muster the forgiveness and patience to stand by while he works his way through this, so long as he is willing to do so. With a little attitude and fierce determination I know he can do just that. He will have to jump through some hoops and overcome some obstacles that will likely be outside his comfort zone and test his commitment. But I have confidence he is capable.

So with that, I'll let go of my fears and dig deep for that prepubescent girl who took no thought for worst case scenarios or what-ifs. And that's the best I can do for hope today.