A recurring theme in recovery work is gratitude. Same thing in the church. A general authority gives a talk on trials and mentions gratitude as part of it. What?
I'm realizing, though, that all these people are on to something. Gratitude is a silver bullet that dispels the feeling of despair. It keeps a bad day from becoming a bad life. It keeps a bad moment in perspective, you know? Is it weird to say I am thankful for gratitude? Cuz I am.
Sometimes gratitude is a choice, and sometimes I feel like gratitude floods my veins when I least expect it. It is hard to choose gratitude in a bad moment. When your husband lies to you again and your world feels completely unsafe, it's hard to feel grateful that the sun was shining when it happened. But the times I've been able to do that, the stings of life are slightly less painful.
Today was one of those days where the gratitude seemed to spontaneously fill my heart. We got invited to a party to celebrate the end of the school year. I was nervous because we moved in just a couple of months ago and I hardly know anyone here, and I tend to be shy as it is. I didn't know who was hosting the party, but I thought it would be a great way to go and meet some friends.
As I pushed my toddler in the stroller and watched my new kindergarten graduate ahead of me on her scooter, I felt so grateful. The weather was perfect. I have these two beautiful, healthy, happy kids as my sidekicks. We live in a nice neighborhood with good people that are reaching out to us. I realized that even if my husband relapsed a couple of weeks ago...even if we had some of the worst fights we've ever had...even if my future is uncertain...that doesn't mean I have a bad life. My life is so full. I have so many other good things to be grateful for. So many good, kind people to fill it with. How lucky am I?
The older I get the more intense the highs and lows seem to become. Life gets pretty hard at times. But then other times it is so, so good. I'm trying to relish those times, be grateful for every little moment in them, so that when the trials come I can draw on the good memories and associated warm fuzzy feelings, and hopefully see the other good things around me too.
Friday, May 30, 2014
Wednesday, May 21, 2014
Healing steps
Over these many years of being aware of my husband's problem addiction, I never felt able to talk to anyone about it. It was my private, shameful struggle. How could I explain it to someone without them pitying me, criticizing me, blaming me, or telling me to leave him? None of those things helped. I was on my own.
There were times I wanted to talk to my bishop about it, since I felt like that was the one person obligated to listen to me. My addict husband wouldn't hear of it. He didn't want me advertising his secret. Probably even more, he couldn't accept that porn was not ok for me or our relationship. He wanted me to just get over it and be ok with it. If I pursued help, that meant I was serious about things not being ok.
This week I took ownership of my story and my recovery, finally. I had been feeling prompted to meet with my bishop, so I did. It was scary. I've never really done that before. Even worse, I had never even met my bishop! We moved into our ward a few months ago, and due to our church time and the size of our ward I've never spoken a word to our bishop. This totally wasn't how I wanted to get to know him, but hey, what can ya do?
The husband knew I was meeting with him and was supportive (yay for recovery). I've heard horror stories about meetings with bishops not going well - being blamed, chastised, or blown off. I was prepared for things to not go well. Thankfully, they went fine. It wasn't earth-shattering necessarily. My bishop seems to be a man of few words generally. But he listened and tried to empathize. He encouraged us to get some counseling and offered to have the ward help pay. He gave me a blessing. He asked us to meet with him together the next week. It was good. I felt good, because I felt brave.
Last night the husband and I met with him together. It was another brief meeting, but it was good because we went together. It was good because my husband had a good attitude. He was open and willing to do this as a team. At one point, he even volunteered the info of when he last acted out and what the bishop would like him to do in terms of sacrament and temple attendance. That was a surprise for me! We're going to get some counseling. We're going to have the bishop to be accountable to and to help us.
Keeping secrets is the worst. Keeping a secret that isn't even your secret but somehow becomes your secret is especially painful. Letting a secret both drag you down and tear you apart as a couple is ridiculous and heartbreaking. It doesn't have to be that way. Now that we've finally started TALKING, to each other and to other people, it feels like this secret isn't as powerful and shameful as we thought it was. Still, we have a long way to go, but I feel proud myself -- and of us.
There were times I wanted to talk to my bishop about it, since I felt like that was the one person obligated to listen to me. My addict husband wouldn't hear of it. He didn't want me advertising his secret. Probably even more, he couldn't accept that porn was not ok for me or our relationship. He wanted me to just get over it and be ok with it. If I pursued help, that meant I was serious about things not being ok.
This week I took ownership of my story and my recovery, finally. I had been feeling prompted to meet with my bishop, so I did. It was scary. I've never really done that before. Even worse, I had never even met my bishop! We moved into our ward a few months ago, and due to our church time and the size of our ward I've never spoken a word to our bishop. This totally wasn't how I wanted to get to know him, but hey, what can ya do?
The husband knew I was meeting with him and was supportive (yay for recovery). I've heard horror stories about meetings with bishops not going well - being blamed, chastised, or blown off. I was prepared for things to not go well. Thankfully, they went fine. It wasn't earth-shattering necessarily. My bishop seems to be a man of few words generally. But he listened and tried to empathize. He encouraged us to get some counseling and offered to have the ward help pay. He gave me a blessing. He asked us to meet with him together the next week. It was good. I felt good, because I felt brave.
Last night the husband and I met with him together. It was another brief meeting, but it was good because we went together. It was good because my husband had a good attitude. He was open and willing to do this as a team. At one point, he even volunteered the info of when he last acted out and what the bishop would like him to do in terms of sacrament and temple attendance. That was a surprise for me! We're going to get some counseling. We're going to have the bishop to be accountable to and to help us.
Keeping secrets is the worst. Keeping a secret that isn't even your secret but somehow becomes your secret is especially painful. Letting a secret both drag you down and tear you apart as a couple is ridiculous and heartbreaking. It doesn't have to be that way. Now that we've finally started TALKING, to each other and to other people, it feels like this secret isn't as powerful and shameful as we thought it was. Still, we have a long way to go, but I feel proud myself -- and of us.
Monday, May 19, 2014
Day by day
This last week has been the epitome of a roller-coaster week.
The previous weekend seemed nice with nice Mother's Day surprises.
Monday I discovered the porn viewed over the weekend and hidden from me, with multiple boundaries broken.
The next several days were spent in a rage. I sunk into a pit of despair. I seethed with anger. I stewed over how I was going to make it as a single mom.
Wednesday I let him in, just the tiniest bit, and we watched an addiction webinar together and tensely talked about a few things.
Thursday he messaged me to let me know he had acted out again. I tried to respond appropriately, but that night when he came home from work, it was the full-blown addict. No air of humility about him or gratitude that I was understanding earlier that day. He came home on the offensive, lashing out in his guilt and stress. He criticized, belittled, blamed, and acted arrogant and selfish.
I lost it. LOST. IT. I was angry about him acting out. I was even angrier at his entitled, selfish attitude and that he was attacking me unfairly. I yelled, I threw oven mitts, I smashed utensils on the counter. I shoved him once. I told him to get the divorce papers. I hated him. I felt utterly broken that night as things continued to worsen throughout the evening. I had asked him to leave, he didn't.
Friday morning I couldn't even bring myself to acknowledge him. But at some point, I felt pangs of guilt for my rage the day before. I emailed him to say sorry for my poor behavior and to explain some of my feelings. He promised he would be gone that night.
That night, he came home a different man. His eyes were soft again, not cold and steely and distant like the day before. He took care of the kids. He was helpful. Then, at about 9:30 pm, he packed a bag and got ready to leave. But....my anger was gone. What on earth was wrong with me? I wanted NOTHING to do with him ever again just 24 hours before. What had changed? I didn't want him gone really. I knew he didn't want to leave, but he was trying to respect my wishes.
I asked if he wanted to talk. He instantly dropped everything and came to sit beside me on the couch. We talked in kind tones. We were honest about our feelings. We came up with a plan to avoid angry outbursts in the future. He listened. He reached for my hand, and I let him. The "real" husband was back. I didn't make him leave that night, but he did still sleep in the basement.
Saturday was busy getting ready for a couples baby shower we were hosting that night. Things almost felt...back to normal? That wasn't right, was it? That's not how it was supposed to be. I didn't want to see him ever again, right?? But that day I was reminded of my own humanity and tendency to sin, and I was humbled.
Sunday I felt raw, needy. I needed love. I needed it from him - the very man that has caused so much fear and hurt. I turned to him and wanted him. It still feels crazy to me, but it feel like the right thing too.
I don't know what the future will bring, but right now, I'm trying to live one day at a time. It is confusing when each day feels so different. I don't know if the way I'm feeling is "right" or "wrong". But is there a right or wrong? It's just how I feel. I can't really control it, I can only respond to it in the healthiest way I know how.
Husband has a new sponsor that actually seems to be doing something. He started writing in a journal. Hopefully, this is a more permanent change. But, if it is not, I know what I need to do, and he knows what will happen also. Until then: one day at a time.
The previous weekend seemed nice with nice Mother's Day surprises.
Monday I discovered the porn viewed over the weekend and hidden from me, with multiple boundaries broken.
The next several days were spent in a rage. I sunk into a pit of despair. I seethed with anger. I stewed over how I was going to make it as a single mom.
Wednesday I let him in, just the tiniest bit, and we watched an addiction webinar together and tensely talked about a few things.
Thursday he messaged me to let me know he had acted out again. I tried to respond appropriately, but that night when he came home from work, it was the full-blown addict. No air of humility about him or gratitude that I was understanding earlier that day. He came home on the offensive, lashing out in his guilt and stress. He criticized, belittled, blamed, and acted arrogant and selfish.
I lost it. LOST. IT. I was angry about him acting out. I was even angrier at his entitled, selfish attitude and that he was attacking me unfairly. I yelled, I threw oven mitts, I smashed utensils on the counter. I shoved him once. I told him to get the divorce papers. I hated him. I felt utterly broken that night as things continued to worsen throughout the evening. I had asked him to leave, he didn't.
Friday morning I couldn't even bring myself to acknowledge him. But at some point, I felt pangs of guilt for my rage the day before. I emailed him to say sorry for my poor behavior and to explain some of my feelings. He promised he would be gone that night.
That night, he came home a different man. His eyes were soft again, not cold and steely and distant like the day before. He took care of the kids. He was helpful. Then, at about 9:30 pm, he packed a bag and got ready to leave. But....my anger was gone. What on earth was wrong with me? I wanted NOTHING to do with him ever again just 24 hours before. What had changed? I didn't want him gone really. I knew he didn't want to leave, but he was trying to respect my wishes.
I asked if he wanted to talk. He instantly dropped everything and came to sit beside me on the couch. We talked in kind tones. We were honest about our feelings. We came up with a plan to avoid angry outbursts in the future. He listened. He reached for my hand, and I let him. The "real" husband was back. I didn't make him leave that night, but he did still sleep in the basement.
Saturday was busy getting ready for a couples baby shower we were hosting that night. Things almost felt...back to normal? That wasn't right, was it? That's not how it was supposed to be. I didn't want to see him ever again, right?? But that day I was reminded of my own humanity and tendency to sin, and I was humbled.
Sunday I felt raw, needy. I needed love. I needed it from him - the very man that has caused so much fear and hurt. I turned to him and wanted him. It still feels crazy to me, but it feel like the right thing too.
I don't know what the future will bring, but right now, I'm trying to live one day at a time. It is confusing when each day feels so different. I don't know if the way I'm feeling is "right" or "wrong". But is there a right or wrong? It's just how I feel. I can't really control it, I can only respond to it in the healthiest way I know how.
Husband has a new sponsor that actually seems to be doing something. He started writing in a journal. Hopefully, this is a more permanent change. But, if it is not, I know what I need to do, and he knows what will happen also. Until then: one day at a time.
Thursday, May 15, 2014
Red hot
My daughter has a book called "Today I Feel Silly". It is a cute story that chronicles the many moods that we go through: joy, anger, confusion, silliness, sadness, frustration, excitement, etc. In my experience with Betrayal Trauma, some days I feel like I cycle through every emotion at least once. It is exhausting.
Today, though, I just feel angry.
Deep, red-hot anger. I feel it churning in my stomach, creeping up my spine, and eating away at my brain. My muscles have been tense and twitchy. My breathing has been shallow.
Dealing with an addict is the most crazy-making experience on the planet. It's like dealing with a giant two year old - someone only in touch with their reality, their desires, and what they want. Someone prone to mood swings and being irrational. Except, the problem is, their adult mind is developed enough to know how to lie and manipulate and get what they want. It's an endless exercise in insanity.
I'm angry about all the lies. I'm angry that this is what my life has become. I'm angry that I feel like a victim. I'm angry that I've been used. I'm angry that I'm the only one really working hard at recovery. I'm angry I'm the only one that has been faithful. I'm angry about all the broken promises and all the manipulation.
And the part I'm really not proud of: I want revenge. I want him to hurt the way I've hurt. I want him to know betrayal and fear and how it feels to be used and criticized, to feel worthless and unloved. I want to tell everyone we know exactly what he's done...and is still doing! I want him to feel for once in his life, without an escape.
I think I've completely gone off my rocker. I don't know what is happening to me lately. It's like every ounce of rage and hurt and sorrow over the last 8 years is bubbling to the surface and I feel out of control. I've stuffed it down and pretended it away for so long that now it is coming back with a vengeance. I'm worried it's going to eat me alive.
Maybe when it's all said and done, it isn't him who destroyed our marriage -- it will have been me.
Today, though, I just feel angry.
Deep, red-hot anger. I feel it churning in my stomach, creeping up my spine, and eating away at my brain. My muscles have been tense and twitchy. My breathing has been shallow.
Dealing with an addict is the most crazy-making experience on the planet. It's like dealing with a giant two year old - someone only in touch with their reality, their desires, and what they want. Someone prone to mood swings and being irrational. Except, the problem is, their adult mind is developed enough to know how to lie and manipulate and get what they want. It's an endless exercise in insanity.
I'm angry about all the lies. I'm angry that this is what my life has become. I'm angry that I feel like a victim. I'm angry that I've been used. I'm angry that I'm the only one really working hard at recovery. I'm angry I'm the only one that has been faithful. I'm angry about all the broken promises and all the manipulation.
And the part I'm really not proud of: I want revenge. I want him to hurt the way I've hurt. I want him to know betrayal and fear and how it feels to be used and criticized, to feel worthless and unloved. I want to tell everyone we know exactly what he's done...and is still doing! I want him to feel for once in his life, without an escape.
I think I've completely gone off my rocker. I don't know what is happening to me lately. It's like every ounce of rage and hurt and sorrow over the last 8 years is bubbling to the surface and I feel out of control. I've stuffed it down and pretended it away for so long that now it is coming back with a vengeance. I'm worried it's going to eat me alive.
Maybe when it's all said and done, it isn't him who destroyed our marriage -- it will have been me.
Tuesday, May 13, 2014
PTSD, Porn, and Boundaries...Oh my!
Ooooohh boy. Where to begin? How can I even begin to sum up the last couple of weeks.
We had a hellish week, complete with the stomach flu and speeding tickets and even a load of white laundry stained pink (it's the little things that send you over the edge, amirite?!) I was feeling...off. And not just because of all the bad stuff. Because I could sense where we were in our cycle and our pattern, and I wasn't feeling safe.
We reached the point where husband thinks he's doing great, all is well, and then the communication starts to die down. Recovery stops being a point of focus and discussion. It's done when things are convenient. And that's when things start to get dangerous. Based on past experience, I know it is only a matter of weeks before the slide into relapse. What will be the trigger that sends him there?? I start feeling anxious, depressed, irritable, withdrawn, and slightly crazy.
So we talked about it, and it really didn't go anywhere. His response was exactly what I expected: "I don't understand what you're upset about. I've been feeling really good lately and doing well. I can see you being upset if something happened, but nothing has!"
He tried to be "understanding" at first, but after a day or two things really unraveled. The communication stopped. When I tried initiating a conversation, things blew up. I mean BLEW UP.
Anyway, I had some really major realizations slap me in the face. I thought maybe it was time to separate. I prayed, and I prayed some more. I wanted to be SURE with a big decision like this. I mentioned it in my share during S-Anon (and the lovely ladies were so kind and supportive). I went home and talked to him. And then...I chickened out. Shocker? Nope. Instead of telling him he needed to move out now, I had a last minute decision to tell him he had the end of the month and I needed to SEE real changes, not just hear promises. He wasn't happy, but whatever. He promised things would change, things would be different. That night I tried sleeping on the couch again, but I was exhausted and my head and body hurt, and the baby woke up at some point in the night. After rocking him, I climbed back into my own bed next to husband, because a good night's sleep was more important than anything else.
And then...things kind of stayed that way. I kept sleeping in our bed, but I stayed guarded. Husband went to his meeting on Saturday, texted and asked a new guy to be his sponsor, and made me leave the house that afternoon so he could prepare a super elaborate Mother's Day dinner that he did with our friends. All very nice. Sunday he had to speak in church, which he was super stressed and terrified about. Sunday morning he tried to initiate sex, but I turned him down because I didn't want to be used to alleviate his stress, as that is one of his biggest triggers and I knew he was stressed and nervous about his talk. Turning him down stressed me out, but he made this little speech about how it's all about making me feel safe and it was ok. We ended up having sex later that night, which I wasn't 100% about, but whatever.
Fast forward to Monday afternoon. My toddler has the Kindle and hands it to me. I randomly decide to check the browser history, even though there's never anything in there. Except this time...there it is. Porn. Graphic porn, viewed about 15 minutes after I left the house on Saturday. I felt like I had been punched in the gut. All the wind was knocked out of me. I immediately felt cold and started shivering. I could hear the blood pounding in my ears. My mind was racing. All my senses seemed to be going haywire at once. I wondered if this is what PTSD felt like?
The husband was on his way home from work. I debated what to do. Prompt him and give him a chance to come clean? Spit it out and keep it short and sweet? I decided on the second option. He came home all nice, tried to give me a hug, and could immediately tell something was wrong. He asked me about it, I told him we needed to talk upstairs.
I told him I found the porn on the Kindle. He froze. I gave him a chance to explain. He had nothing, and then started to get defensive. He knew he was trapped. I ranted for a short bit. I left the house and went shopping and drove around. I secluded myself in our bedroom while he slept in the basement.
He sent me an email and text to apologize. I didn't respond to either. He created a Google Doc to act as his journal and added me so I could read it whenever I want. Stupidly, I have read it, even though I know I just need to detach. I feel like it's just another show, another manipulation tool. He talks about missing me, being afraid I'll leave him, wanting me to quickly see the changes he's making because he needs me and my friendship and love.
I want to give him the benefit of the doubt, but I know as soon as I soften, as soon as I stop enforcing my boundaries and "let him off the hook" for this one that he'll stop writing in that document and stop pretty much everything else too. Nothing will change. This cycle will continue. I HAVE to be strong. I have to stick to my guns and follow my gut. I can't be an enabler anymore. This is so hard. Probably the hardest thing I've ever done, but I HAVE TO DO IT.
There is more to write, but that will be the next post. This is way too long as it is and it is way too late.
We had a hellish week, complete with the stomach flu and speeding tickets and even a load of white laundry stained pink (it's the little things that send you over the edge, amirite?!) I was feeling...off. And not just because of all the bad stuff. Because I could sense where we were in our cycle and our pattern, and I wasn't feeling safe.
We reached the point where husband thinks he's doing great, all is well, and then the communication starts to die down. Recovery stops being a point of focus and discussion. It's done when things are convenient. And that's when things start to get dangerous. Based on past experience, I know it is only a matter of weeks before the slide into relapse. What will be the trigger that sends him there?? I start feeling anxious, depressed, irritable, withdrawn, and slightly crazy.
So we talked about it, and it really didn't go anywhere. His response was exactly what I expected: "I don't understand what you're upset about. I've been feeling really good lately and doing well. I can see you being upset if something happened, but nothing has!"
He tried to be "understanding" at first, but after a day or two things really unraveled. The communication stopped. When I tried initiating a conversation, things blew up. I mean BLEW UP.
Anyway, I had some really major realizations slap me in the face. I thought maybe it was time to separate. I prayed, and I prayed some more. I wanted to be SURE with a big decision like this. I mentioned it in my share during S-Anon (and the lovely ladies were so kind and supportive). I went home and talked to him. And then...I chickened out. Shocker? Nope. Instead of telling him he needed to move out now, I had a last minute decision to tell him he had the end of the month and I needed to SEE real changes, not just hear promises. He wasn't happy, but whatever. He promised things would change, things would be different. That night I tried sleeping on the couch again, but I was exhausted and my head and body hurt, and the baby woke up at some point in the night. After rocking him, I climbed back into my own bed next to husband, because a good night's sleep was more important than anything else.
And then...things kind of stayed that way. I kept sleeping in our bed, but I stayed guarded. Husband went to his meeting on Saturday, texted and asked a new guy to be his sponsor, and made me leave the house that afternoon so he could prepare a super elaborate Mother's Day dinner that he did with our friends. All very nice. Sunday he had to speak in church, which he was super stressed and terrified about. Sunday morning he tried to initiate sex, but I turned him down because I didn't want to be used to alleviate his stress, as that is one of his biggest triggers and I knew he was stressed and nervous about his talk. Turning him down stressed me out, but he made this little speech about how it's all about making me feel safe and it was ok. We ended up having sex later that night, which I wasn't 100% about, but whatever.
Fast forward to Monday afternoon. My toddler has the Kindle and hands it to me. I randomly decide to check the browser history, even though there's never anything in there. Except this time...there it is. Porn. Graphic porn, viewed about 15 minutes after I left the house on Saturday. I felt like I had been punched in the gut. All the wind was knocked out of me. I immediately felt cold and started shivering. I could hear the blood pounding in my ears. My mind was racing. All my senses seemed to be going haywire at once. I wondered if this is what PTSD felt like?
The husband was on his way home from work. I debated what to do. Prompt him and give him a chance to come clean? Spit it out and keep it short and sweet? I decided on the second option. He came home all nice, tried to give me a hug, and could immediately tell something was wrong. He asked me about it, I told him we needed to talk upstairs.
I told him I found the porn on the Kindle. He froze. I gave him a chance to explain. He had nothing, and then started to get defensive. He knew he was trapped. I ranted for a short bit. I left the house and went shopping and drove around. I secluded myself in our bedroom while he slept in the basement.
He sent me an email and text to apologize. I didn't respond to either. He created a Google Doc to act as his journal and added me so I could read it whenever I want. Stupidly, I have read it, even though I know I just need to detach. I feel like it's just another show, another manipulation tool. He talks about missing me, being afraid I'll leave him, wanting me to quickly see the changes he's making because he needs me and my friendship and love.
I want to give him the benefit of the doubt, but I know as soon as I soften, as soon as I stop enforcing my boundaries and "let him off the hook" for this one that he'll stop writing in that document and stop pretty much everything else too. Nothing will change. This cycle will continue. I HAVE to be strong. I have to stick to my guns and follow my gut. I can't be an enabler anymore. This is so hard. Probably the hardest thing I've ever done, but I HAVE TO DO IT.
There is more to write, but that will be the next post. This is way too long as it is and it is way too late.
Wednesday, May 7, 2014
Lost
Today I am lost. Today I hurt. Today is a bad day.
I've been majorly struggling lately. I've tried to reach out to other women in my group. I've tried surrendering and praying this away. I am suffering. The pain of this addiction has been too much. The sharp knowledge that I was hardly more than body parts that served a function throughout my marriage has been too much. I wanted desperately for my husband to love ME. Who I was, not my body. I tried to be perfect so he would finally see the real me and love that part of me. I killed myself trying to be everything I could possibly imagine he would want. I gave him everything.
He couldn't see any of it because his mind has been too clouded by lust for a parade of endless women.
I tried talking to him about it finally, and it didn't work. He interrupted, minimized, told me how to feel, told me to get over it, played the victim...and I lost it. The last few days have been a series of grenades going off as we've tried to talk. I've slept on the couch the last two nights. Last night I said the F-word for the first time in my last. Last night I also told him I hated him (because in that moment, I did).
I feel like I've truly lost my mind.
He tried to apologize. He made more promises about changing, which is what set me off in the first place. I can't take any more empty promises that he doesn't follow through with. It is slowly killing me. I don't feel safe or sane or ok anymore. But he made the promises, and although more cautious, I hoped I would see some action.
Then, today, a friend sent me a link regarding recovery that I thought about sending him. Before I sent it though, I paused. What if he isn't in a frame of mind to read this? I had told myself this morning I would detach, that I wouldn't check up on him. I decided to check his YouTube viewing history anyway. And there it was...a nice list of his favorite types of videos.
He sent me a text telling me to call him. I thought maybe he would actually 'fess up for once. He just wanted to discuss some item of business. I asked him if that was all he wanted to talk about, he insisted it was but wanted to know why I was asking. After I hung up, I realized I should take a screen shot of the evidence, just in case.
I was too late. He wised up after I tipped him off. It was deleted.
I haven't heard a word from him since.
WHAT DO I DO???????
How is this my life? How did this happen?? I don't want to be a single mom. I don't want to tear my family apart. But is there any other choice? The man has a list of excuses a mile long as to why he can't/won't/doesn't need to do certain recovery things. I know where his heart lies. But what am I going to do about it?
I've tried praying today, but nothing seems clear. I feel like I need to make him leave. But when? For how long?
I can't do this.
I've never been good at this stuff. I can't be the bad guy. I can't stand up for myself while the other person calls me crazy. I can't put my kids through this.
I don't know who to call for help. My biggest support people are online, most of them in another state. I want to tell my family, but I too scared.
I can't live like this anymore. I can't believe this is my life.
I've been majorly struggling lately. I've tried to reach out to other women in my group. I've tried surrendering and praying this away. I am suffering. The pain of this addiction has been too much. The sharp knowledge that I was hardly more than body parts that served a function throughout my marriage has been too much. I wanted desperately for my husband to love ME. Who I was, not my body. I tried to be perfect so he would finally see the real me and love that part of me. I killed myself trying to be everything I could possibly imagine he would want. I gave him everything.
He couldn't see any of it because his mind has been too clouded by lust for a parade of endless women.
I tried talking to him about it finally, and it didn't work. He interrupted, minimized, told me how to feel, told me to get over it, played the victim...and I lost it. The last few days have been a series of grenades going off as we've tried to talk. I've slept on the couch the last two nights. Last night I said the F-word for the first time in my last. Last night I also told him I hated him (because in that moment, I did).
I feel like I've truly lost my mind.
He tried to apologize. He made more promises about changing, which is what set me off in the first place. I can't take any more empty promises that he doesn't follow through with. It is slowly killing me. I don't feel safe or sane or ok anymore. But he made the promises, and although more cautious, I hoped I would see some action.
Then, today, a friend sent me a link regarding recovery that I thought about sending him. Before I sent it though, I paused. What if he isn't in a frame of mind to read this? I had told myself this morning I would detach, that I wouldn't check up on him. I decided to check his YouTube viewing history anyway. And there it was...a nice list of his favorite types of videos.
He sent me a text telling me to call him. I thought maybe he would actually 'fess up for once. He just wanted to discuss some item of business. I asked him if that was all he wanted to talk about, he insisted it was but wanted to know why I was asking. After I hung up, I realized I should take a screen shot of the evidence, just in case.
I was too late. He wised up after I tipped him off. It was deleted.
I haven't heard a word from him since.
WHAT DO I DO???????
How is this my life? How did this happen?? I don't want to be a single mom. I don't want to tear my family apart. But is there any other choice? The man has a list of excuses a mile long as to why he can't/won't/doesn't need to do certain recovery things. I know where his heart lies. But what am I going to do about it?
I've tried praying today, but nothing seems clear. I feel like I need to make him leave. But when? For how long?
I can't do this.
I've never been good at this stuff. I can't be the bad guy. I can't stand up for myself while the other person calls me crazy. I can't put my kids through this.
I don't know who to call for help. My biggest support people are online, most of them in another state. I want to tell my family, but I too scared.
I can't live like this anymore. I can't believe this is my life.
Monday, May 5, 2014
The magic of self-care
You know what the easiest and most difficult thing in the world is?
Self-care.
This concept was completely foreign to me for years. I am the master accommodator. If somebody asks me what I want, my first response is always, "I don't care, what do you think?". Your needs first, my needs last. Always.
I can't tell you how many times I maybe did have an opinion, but someone else had a different one, so I just dismissed mine. This happened so frequently that after a while, I really didn't have an opinion anymore. My mantra became that whatever made so-and-so happy made me happy. And a lot of the time, it really did. If the person I was close to was happy, that meant I did a good job. That meant that I had value.
Codependent much?
I've been an accommodater my entire life, and I'm not really sure why. I remember when I was 10 years old, I got sick. Like, REALLY sick. I spent a good month or two incredibly ill, until I finally was admitted to the hospital where I stayed for a week. After getting released from the hospital, it still took another two months to fully recover. I had contracted an intestinal bacteria that nearly killed me. It was a terrible ordeal.
The thing was, a few weeks before I was admitted to the hospital my mom had surgery. She couldn't drive for over a week and had to spend some significant time recovery. I didn't want her to worry about me, even though I was seriously ill. I'd put on a happy face so I would go to school, and then I'd spend almost the entire day sleeping on my desk (NOT normal for a straight-A student like I was). During recess I'd go to the library and lie on the couch there, trying not to die. I didn't want to call my mom, because she couldn't drive to pick me up. She'd have to find a neighbor to help out. I didn't want to be an inconvenience. Pretty soon I got too sick to keep up the charade anymore and I spent a week at home and then a week in the hospital. Years later I told my mom about how I tried to pretend everything was ok so no one would worry. She burst into tears. She felt just awful that I had suffered so much.
Seriously, what 10 year old does something like that?
So imagine what happens when a natural accommodator marries an addict. Addiction is self-centered, arrogant, inconsiderate, controlling. Selfish. An addiction will take everything.
After 7 years of living with an addict, I completely lost my sense of self. I lost the ability to make myself happy and to find value in myself. I felt that what I wanted and needed and who I was was secondary to making my addict happy. If I could make him happy, maybe he would finally see me for who I really was and would love me. I felt that self-depravation would make me a better person somehow, when really, it only made me miserable.
On my road to recovery, one of the most important things has been to find ME again. What I like, what I need, what I love about myself. I've felt promptings from the Spirit that God didn't send me here to be a doormat. He sent me here to be ME. It's time to find that person again.
Reconnecting with myself hasn't been easy, but it has been so rewarding. One of the keys to doing this is self-care. Taking a step back and reflecting on how I'm really feeling, and then DOING it! Things like resting instead of doing the dishes because my back hurts and one of the kids was up in the night, leaving me exhausted. Stopping to grab a sugar cookie because I had a craving that just wouldn't quit. Inviting friends out to lunch. Taking a few minutes to stretch and meditate instead of mopping the floor.
Simple, right?? But SO hard at first! The feelings of guilt that I was being selfish were almost too much. But as I actually went through with taking my feelings into account in addition to others, I became happier, and I became more able to devote myself to others without resentment.
As I've begun to consider my own needs and feelings, I've made a magical discovery... I am a person of worth! I matter! And it's ok to ask for the things that I need once in a while. I still like to make other people happy, but I no longer feel that depriving myself of my own happiness is worthy of praise or makes me a better person.
And that has been the starting point for my own recovery.
Self-care.
This concept was completely foreign to me for years. I am the master accommodator. If somebody asks me what I want, my first response is always, "I don't care, what do you think?". Your needs first, my needs last. Always.
I can't tell you how many times I maybe did have an opinion, but someone else had a different one, so I just dismissed mine. This happened so frequently that after a while, I really didn't have an opinion anymore. My mantra became that whatever made so-and-so happy made me happy. And a lot of the time, it really did. If the person I was close to was happy, that meant I did a good job. That meant that I had value.
Codependent much?
I've been an accommodater my entire life, and I'm not really sure why. I remember when I was 10 years old, I got sick. Like, REALLY sick. I spent a good month or two incredibly ill, until I finally was admitted to the hospital where I stayed for a week. After getting released from the hospital, it still took another two months to fully recover. I had contracted an intestinal bacteria that nearly killed me. It was a terrible ordeal.
The thing was, a few weeks before I was admitted to the hospital my mom had surgery. She couldn't drive for over a week and had to spend some significant time recovery. I didn't want her to worry about me, even though I was seriously ill. I'd put on a happy face so I would go to school, and then I'd spend almost the entire day sleeping on my desk (NOT normal for a straight-A student like I was). During recess I'd go to the library and lie on the couch there, trying not to die. I didn't want to call my mom, because she couldn't drive to pick me up. She'd have to find a neighbor to help out. I didn't want to be an inconvenience. Pretty soon I got too sick to keep up the charade anymore and I spent a week at home and then a week in the hospital. Years later I told my mom about how I tried to pretend everything was ok so no one would worry. She burst into tears. She felt just awful that I had suffered so much.
Seriously, what 10 year old does something like that?
So imagine what happens when a natural accommodator marries an addict. Addiction is self-centered, arrogant, inconsiderate, controlling. Selfish. An addiction will take everything.
After 7 years of living with an addict, I completely lost my sense of self. I lost the ability to make myself happy and to find value in myself. I felt that what I wanted and needed and who I was was secondary to making my addict happy. If I could make him happy, maybe he would finally see me for who I really was and would love me. I felt that self-depravation would make me a better person somehow, when really, it only made me miserable.
On my road to recovery, one of the most important things has been to find ME again. What I like, what I need, what I love about myself. I've felt promptings from the Spirit that God didn't send me here to be a doormat. He sent me here to be ME. It's time to find that person again.
Reconnecting with myself hasn't been easy, but it has been so rewarding. One of the keys to doing this is self-care. Taking a step back and reflecting on how I'm really feeling, and then DOING it! Things like resting instead of doing the dishes because my back hurts and one of the kids was up in the night, leaving me exhausted. Stopping to grab a sugar cookie because I had a craving that just wouldn't quit. Inviting friends out to lunch. Taking a few minutes to stretch and meditate instead of mopping the floor.
Simple, right?? But SO hard at first! The feelings of guilt that I was being selfish were almost too much. But as I actually went through with taking my feelings into account in addition to others, I became happier, and I became more able to devote myself to others without resentment.
As I've begun to consider my own needs and feelings, I've made a magical discovery... I am a person of worth! I matter! And it's ok to ask for the things that I need once in a while. I still like to make other people happy, but I no longer feel that depriving myself of my own happiness is worthy of praise or makes me a better person.
And that has been the starting point for my own recovery.
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