My husband has a childhood friend who is dying of cancer. It is heartbreaking in every way. He has three young kids, a wife that adores him, and is a good man. They've tried everything, and it has been a long battle, but it looks like it may draw to a close within the next year.
I can't even begin to imagine the pain, heartbreak, and desperation they feel. I know their testimonies have been strengthened. I know they have given it everything they have and they have a long road ahead of them still. It isn't fair. Not in any way.
The one, small silver lining is that they have learned to appreciate the present and never waste a moment. They are busy making memories together. In fact, there are a number of charitable groups that have provided them with trips to Hawaii, Jackson Hole, and more, just so they can make memories as a family. People have organized fundraising softball tournaments and dinners. Neighbors stop by and bring dinner, tend their kids, and provide a listening ear and a shoulder to cry on. They have felt an outpouring of love from their community, and they deserve it.
For the record, I would never want to be in their shoes. Ever. My heart truly aches for them as they experience the ongoing pain of chemo, tests, bad news, and the constant passing of time.
The thing is....sometimes I feel like my home is being invaded by a spiritual cancer. This addiction crept in long before either of us realized what it was. It grew in secret and isolation. It's ugly symptoms took over and changed everything, and we're both left feeling hopeless and scared. It eats away at love, trust, intimacy, confidence, and our entire family life. It is destroying our souls.
There is no cure.
We weep behind closed doors. We petition the Lord for help. I spend hours scouring the Internet, trying to find some bit of information that can help. Maybe this therapist? Maybe that book? Maybe a new program? We try to live a "normal" life and put on a happy face at family events so nobody will know about this soul-cancer. We joke around with friends as if stealing the bedcovers is the biggest sticking point in our marriage.
After a new lie is discovered I look around in despair at my messy house, my demanding children, my church calling, and my part-time job, and I die even more inside. My head and my heart are a mess of emotions and pain. Trying to fix waffles for my kids, while keeping my back to them as silent tears stream down my face, drains the last bit of energy that I have. I wish desperately that someone would show up on my doorstep with a casserole, some cleaning supplies, a fun game for my kids, or even just a hug.
But no one comes. The shame of this addiction silences my cries for help. The fear of judgment, the fear of not feeling safe, my pride - all keep me from telling people what is really going on in my life. I even sugar-coat things for the ladies in my 12-step group, because I feel like my pain and my challenges don't compare to some of the things they've endured, so how can I ask for something from them? I feel alone, even though I know there are others in my shoes.
All my memories with my husband are tainted. Everything, even the birth of my children, is changed by the knowledge of his lies and betrayals. I wonder if we can ever make new memories, clean from the darkness this addiction brings.
There is no cure for this...but there is healing. I am trying to heal. It feels like a fight. Some days it feels like too much, some days it feels like there is hope. I am trying to learn to live in the moment, not in the pain of the past or the fear of the future. I am trying to trust my God.
I am grateful we are not dealing with a devastating physical disease that could alter our lives forever. Please make no mistake about that. But sometimes, I wish that cancer of the soul would be recognized and supported, too. I wish there were no shame or judgment around it.
I wish someone would come to my door with a hug and a listening ear. A casserole wouldn't be bad either ;)
Showing posts with label faith. Show all posts
Showing posts with label faith. Show all posts
Monday, July 14, 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.
Thursday, November 21, 2013
Climbing back up
My last post 10 days ago was from a pit of despair. Oh, was I ever angry! Oh, was I heartbroken!
The lie my husband told me was just a little lie, in all honesty. But it cut deeper than I could've ever guessed. It burned within me for days. It was as if all the other millions of lies my husband had told me over the years had piggybacked onto this one, and I felt the weight of all of them.
I wouldn't say I trusted my husband before this incident. Our trust died a long time ago. But I had the hope of trust. I thought that now that we'd embarked on this recovery journey for reals, that he would rise to the occasion when he had something difficult to tell me. When that didn't happen, I was utterly crushed. I guess I forgot how baffling and cunning addiction really is.
That night, I said a tearful prayer begging my Heavenly Father to take these awful feelings from me. Part of the Twelve Steps is learning to turn our lives and our wills over to God, and trusting that the Atonement can heal our hurts. I was trying so hard to do this. To give it to God and trust that the pain would stop burning in my heart.
My pain didn't disappear. I woke up angry and sad the next morning. BUT, I did manage to fall asleep without too much trouble, which was a tender mercy. The husband was very contrite and apologetic the next morning and said he wasn't feeling well the night before, so he had a hard time coping.
Later that day I lamented to him that I didn't know if the Twelve Steps would work for me. How do you turn your negative feelings over to God? How do such awful, piercing emotions go away? Maybe I just didn't have enough faith.
We managed to smooth things over a bit, although I still feel much more guarded and less willing to be vulnerable. A few nights later, I was reading my scriptures. As I was reading, a string of thoughts suddenly came into my mind. I realized that I was feeling better. Yes, the memory of the pain I felt was still there, but I didn't have that burning pain in my heart any more. My mind was calm again. The thought came to me that my awful feelings were taken from me. It wasn't instantaneous, and that is ok. We are here on this earth to have the mortal experience, and sometimes that means feeling pain, sadness, hurt, and frustration. The few nights before when I was in so much pain wasn't because I didn't have enough faith or because God didn't hear my prayer, it was because I am human, and sometimes that happens. Heavenly Father blessed me instead with the ability to fall asleep that night. He knows more than I do, and He knows what I need to learn. Sometimes learning requires discomfort. And a few days later, through the Atonement of Christ and my faith, my pain was taken away.
As I sat and pondered on these thoughts that were brought to my mind, I was filled with humility and gratitude. How silly of me to expect that I should say a prayer and *poof*, I feel happy and as good as new within an instant. Not to say that God couldn't make that happen, but that's not what this life is about. I was grateful to have learned this lesson, and I was grateful that my Heavenly Father saw fit to teach me in a quiet moment through the Spirit a few days later so that I could understand.
As I've worked through things the last couple of weeks, one of the biggest things I am learning is patience. I need to have patience with trials and with my husband and with myself. I need to have patience with God as my life unfolds.
Everything will be ok.
The lie my husband told me was just a little lie, in all honesty. But it cut deeper than I could've ever guessed. It burned within me for days. It was as if all the other millions of lies my husband had told me over the years had piggybacked onto this one, and I felt the weight of all of them.
I wouldn't say I trusted my husband before this incident. Our trust died a long time ago. But I had the hope of trust. I thought that now that we'd embarked on this recovery journey for reals, that he would rise to the occasion when he had something difficult to tell me. When that didn't happen, I was utterly crushed. I guess I forgot how baffling and cunning addiction really is.
That night, I said a tearful prayer begging my Heavenly Father to take these awful feelings from me. Part of the Twelve Steps is learning to turn our lives and our wills over to God, and trusting that the Atonement can heal our hurts. I was trying so hard to do this. To give it to God and trust that the pain would stop burning in my heart.
My pain didn't disappear. I woke up angry and sad the next morning. BUT, I did manage to fall asleep without too much trouble, which was a tender mercy. The husband was very contrite and apologetic the next morning and said he wasn't feeling well the night before, so he had a hard time coping.
Later that day I lamented to him that I didn't know if the Twelve Steps would work for me. How do you turn your negative feelings over to God? How do such awful, piercing emotions go away? Maybe I just didn't have enough faith.
We managed to smooth things over a bit, although I still feel much more guarded and less willing to be vulnerable. A few nights later, I was reading my scriptures. As I was reading, a string of thoughts suddenly came into my mind. I realized that I was feeling better. Yes, the memory of the pain I felt was still there, but I didn't have that burning pain in my heart any more. My mind was calm again. The thought came to me that my awful feelings were taken from me. It wasn't instantaneous, and that is ok. We are here on this earth to have the mortal experience, and sometimes that means feeling pain, sadness, hurt, and frustration. The few nights before when I was in so much pain wasn't because I didn't have enough faith or because God didn't hear my prayer, it was because I am human, and sometimes that happens. Heavenly Father blessed me instead with the ability to fall asleep that night. He knows more than I do, and He knows what I need to learn. Sometimes learning requires discomfort. And a few days later, through the Atonement of Christ and my faith, my pain was taken away.
As I sat and pondered on these thoughts that were brought to my mind, I was filled with humility and gratitude. How silly of me to expect that I should say a prayer and *poof*, I feel happy and as good as new within an instant. Not to say that God couldn't make that happen, but that's not what this life is about. I was grateful to have learned this lesson, and I was grateful that my Heavenly Father saw fit to teach me in a quiet moment through the Spirit a few days later so that I could understand.
As I've worked through things the last couple of weeks, one of the biggest things I am learning is patience. I need to have patience with trials and with my husband and with myself. I need to have patience with God as my life unfolds.
Everything will be ok.
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