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.” 

Part II - Needs, progress, etc.

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

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

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

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

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

Discovering Needs and Closing Gaps Part I

This post is hopelessly long and disconnected.  Sorry.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh The Places You'll Go!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

We came to live almost alone.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Be Kind Be Brave

Another Camp Scabs is in the books.  My cup runneth over with gratitude for the opportunity I have to meet such remarkable women. I really can’t get over that.  I’ve recently started reading Glennon Melton’s book and she talks about how we are truly living when we let our walls down and share honestly with our friends and in our relationships.  Camp has a way of making that feel natural and even though it’s not easy, it’s fulfilling. 

Thank you to all the women who have had courage to take such a risk. 

There is a tsunami coming.  I’m not sure exactly what it will look like, but it’s a wave of knowledge, empowered women, education, bravery and change.

Forgive my clichés, but YOU can be a part of this wave. 

Never in my life have I been so convinced of the power of the individual.  If we have the courage to work from the bottom up, God will work from the top down.  

Years ago, before this was part of my life, I didn’t know what I didn’t know.  It’s taken years for me to understand the lies of my husband’s pornography addiction. 

Unfortunately the world is full of people who still believe those lies.  They don’t know what they don’t know.  And if it took me, in my brokenness and desperation, THIS long to start to understand the truth about sexual addiction, it will surely take patience and persistence as we watch those around us learn and understand. 

But we can be the instrument of change.  There is a quote that is often attributed to Ghandi that says “Be the change you wish to see in the world.”  But what Ghandi actually said was this-

“If we could change ourselves, the tendencies in the world would also change. As a man changes his own nature, so does the attitude of the world change towards him. ... We need not wait to see what others do.”

If it’s compassion we are looking for from the world, let’s offer more compassion to the world.  If it’s knowledge and understanding, let’s boldly share ours.

I’m not necessarily talking about shouting from the rooftops, although if that feels right to you, go with it.  I’m talking about our private conversations with our therapists, our church leaders, our friends. 

If you don't know where to begin, begin by being willing to begin. Send an email, open up to a friend, trust your gut.  

Let’s not wait to see what others do, let’s follow our hearts and share our truth.   

Camp Scabs - Island Park

If I was given two months to live - I'd pack up my family and spend it in Island Park. No kidding. 

Camp Scabs Island Park

Thursday April 10- Saturday April 11

There are scholarships available. 

(Send an email to campscabs @ gmail dot com)

Campers will be carpooling from Salt Lake City, Boise, Rexburg, Idaho Falls, Logan, 

and anywhere along the way. 

Making Amends to Pete

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

A few things my sponsor suggested about making amends-

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

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

-                              Don’t make excuses or assign blame.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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)

Please don't say the "S" word!

You wanna talk about what?

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Things have been going well with Pete since his last relapse.  He works hard at recovery.  He sees his therapist- who is really in tune with sex addicts.  He attends meetings at least twice a week.  He makes daily phone calls to his buddies to “stay current.”  (Not exactly sure what that means…)

We haven’t quite got back to the level of emotional connection that we were before the relapse, but we are closing the gap.  Unfortunately this time of year is demanding for him at work and we haven’t had the quality time I need for any kind of intimacy.

But last night he approached me and said he wanted to talk about sex. He’s been asking for better communication about sex and I’ve been trying. But honestly I’m terrible about it.  I hate talking about it.  It is all so complicated in my brain and I’m trying to sort through it all. 

When he brought it up last night something happened inside me.  A physiological response.  A trigger.  I listened to him share his frustrations and let him talk.  I choked out an

 “Okay.” 

He started to back-pedal a little bit, probably because once he said it he realized it wasn’t “right”. But it was honest, and he was trying to communicate.

But my adrenaline kicked in. It was fight or flight and this time it was flight. I couldn’t get away from him fast enough.  I locked myself in the bathroom and lied down on the floor.  Breathe in, breathe out.  I was reasonably calm.  I wasn’t sobbing or slapping walls. But something inside me was saying

“Get AWAY from him. He is not safe.  He is a threat. He will hurt you.” 

Scabs told me once that triggers can be lies. And this one was. I was in full-out trauma mode.  My instincts were shooting flares. 

It sucks when he brings up sex. I really wish he wouldn’t.  I have sex when I feel safe having sex. End of discussion.  And maybe it was insensitive of him to mention it.  But he’s not what he used to be, and yet I’m responding to the way he used to be.  I’m conditioned.  

I think the ultimate goal is that someday he can bring up sex and I won’t have a meltdown.  Someday he will be able to communicate his feelings (right or wrong) and I won’t personalize them.  Someday I won’t feel massive anxiety about how I’m handling our sexual relationship.  Someday.

Despite the setback last night, and the way my body told me that my husband was poison, I feel optimistic today.  I see it for what it is.  I see the trigger. I see the lie.  He isn’t totally safe, and he hasn’t completely earned my trust.  Be he isn’t poison anymore.  And I can call out my feelings and fears- I can label them for what they are. Feelings and fears.  Not facts.  Not reality.  I can process them on the bathroom floor if I need to.  And then I can tell myself truths. 

I am okay where I am. 

I am enough. 

His frustrations aren’t about me.

I can hear him. 

I am enough.