Contact Wounds

 My sister reached out to me this morning to tell me that her very good friend just discovered that her husband is likely a sex addict. She asked me if it is possible to experience second-hand trauma by walking through trauma with others, first me and now her good friend. She is struggling today to keep up hope that there are good men in this world. I fucking hate how vast the effects can be of one person's addiction and choices, infecting an entire family. No one deserves this. Certainly I did not deserve what I experienced, and I will likely spend the rest of my life healing. But the anger I feel at the ripple effects of my ex's actions. It burns so deep. Hurting me is one thing. But hurting me so much that my sister, by simply supporting me over the past decade, now struggles with PTSD symptoms as well? It sends waves of deep rage through my bones. 

A Letter to my Ex-Husband

It's been 8 years since I last posted. I forgot all about this blog that helped me through so many impossible situations. I could talk to others who were going through the same thing as me, but anonymously to protect my then husband as well as myself. The past 8 years have been filled with sadness, longing, happiness, and forgiveness. And an unnecessarily contentious divorce. I went from doing the bedtime routine and tucking my children in every night to locking myself in my home office turned bedroom at night for protection to moving to a new house to shared custody to financial ruin, and now....to peace that I've never felt before in my adult life. This is a letter to my ex-husband.

Dear Ex-Husband,

It's been more than 2 years since I filed for divorce. And more than 3 years since I decided that I couldn't possibly spend another ounce of energy trying to save our marriage. I remember the exact moment where I knew that I had no more to give. You had knee reconstruction surgery a few months earlier. I had set timers on my phone throughout the night to make sure I got you all your meds at the right time, filled your ice bucket just the way you wanted it, got you all of your meals in bed, did everythng in the house on my own, including cleaning up a disasterous basement flood. I wanted you to feel loved and cared for just how I would want anyone to feel after major surgery.

I had discovered a few months before your surgery that you had been lying about binging porn. I sobbed, told you I couldn't do it anymore. But then, as quick as I said that, I lost all fight in me and gave in. I told you I would just have sex with you any time you wanted it because I wanted you to stop being cruel to me, and I already hated myself, so why not add to the misery? After your surgery, I was reluctant to have sex, and that must have been what set you off. You gave me the silent treatment, which triggers feelings of abandonment and panic. So I reached out and asked what I had done. 

You told me that you did not think that I took good enough care of you after surgery, and that I was selfish to not want your mom to come to our house to take care of you better. You said that you were embarassed because once, when someone asked you if I was doting on you after surgery, you had to "shamefully say no, she's just taking care of the hourse and kids". You said that the final straw was that I expressed reluctance to join you at your parents' house for Christmas. I cried, and the only words I could get out were "I will do better". You were pleased. I packed all of us up and drove us to your parents for Christmas. I served you dinner and took your plate, just like your mom did for your dad and your sister-in-law did for your brother. I laughed at your jokes. I faked a smile. And that night, when I lied down next to our son to go to sleep, I took too many sleeping pills to turn off my brain in hopes that I might not wake up the next morning. But I did wake up. And I drove you and the kids back home. As I drove those 5 hours, I realized that if I wanted to live, I needed to stop living for you and live for myself and our kids. I never kissed you again after that, never had sex with you, never had a vulnerable conversation, never googled yet again "how to tolerate a dead marriage".

I filed for divorce several months after that, after praying and begging God to help you do something, anything, to make it possible for us to stay living in the same house. Not because I wanted to stay in the marriage. I did not. But I thought at the time that children having to live in two houses was the worst possible outcome. Ultimately, though, I realized that our children watching their mother be mistreated was worse than them living in two different hourses. When I filed for divorce, you harrassed me at night via text, you bullied me, proclaiming that you are getting the house no matter what, and as you had threatened me to do 10 years earlier when I had wanted to file for divorce, you used your parents' money to fight me for custody of our two amazing children.

As I come out of the fog and into my new life, there are some things that I want to say to you.

Remember early in the divorce proceedings when you wrote that I had "chronic health issues" and "chronic fatigue"? I did have those things while I was married to you. Gastritis, gluten intolerance, GERD, chronic migraines and fatigue, depression and anxiety. Do you know how many diagnoses I have now? None. I haven't had a single episode of feeling like my stomach was on fire, not a single migraine, I take no medications for GERD, and I don't need sleeping pills to sleep.

Remember how you thought that I "did not engage with the kids"? I was reluctant to tell you that the reason that you didn't see me joining in when you were doing something with the kids is because I was afraid. You were the star of the show, I was in the background trying to just be good enough and do the right things that you would approve of. I am and have always been sensitive to teasing. It was too much pressure, so I opted out. I'm not sure you ever in all of our years together heard me belt out a song while dancing or do anything remotely that carefree or silly. But the kids now know the words to 90's pop songs that I belt out while cooking dinner and dancing in the kitchen.

Remember how you told me that I did not know how to garden properly? You should see my wild and creative organic backyard gardens now. There are murals on the walls of the garage, the kids painted the fence in rainbow colors and get to grow whatever plants they want, and the flowers...I wish you could see the flowers. They bring me so much joy.

And remember those moments where I just sobbed to you, begging you to be honest with me, to choose me, to love me and only me? I am in a relationship now where I do not have to prove my love. My quirks, my creativity, my intense hobbies, these are positive things in someone else's eyes. We have open, honest conversations, we cry with each other, we work as a team to lift each other up instead of tearing each other down. Sex is not the core of our relationship. Friendship is.

One thing that has always been especially hard for me is knowing that you will never truly understand what it was like for me to live a life where I really did not have access to my own reality. I never knew and will never know what was real and what was deceit in our marriage. I do not know how many times you cheated on me, lied to me, or deceived me. I do not know which times you meant it when you said you loved me, or if you ever meant it at all. I do not know if you married me just to use me for your own gain. My past with you is a giant question mark, and that is something I have to live with every day. The only thing I have to go on is the words you spoke to me. You told me that you thought I was clueless, I was boring, unengaging, didn't give you enough attention. But what you didn't know is just how much effort I put into just trying to survive each day.

I do and always will wish for you happiness and healing. Not for your own sake, but because our children deserve so much more than what they witnessed during our marriage. I will work every day from now until the day I die to heal the broken parts of me so that I can help our children heal the broken parts of them. 

Sincerely, Eleanor

Watching The Minutes

I should be sleeping by now. The minutes on the clock tell me that it's past midnight. Where did my rock star sleeping skills go? I used to nap every weekend and get nine hours of sleep each night.

No problem.

I know exactly when I had my first real bout of insomnia. It was two days after D-Day. I stayed up for almost three days with only a few hours of sleep before my body finally gave in.

Is it the nightmares, or better yet, the fear of nightmares that keeps my eyes open? Sometimes. I had nightmares before D-Day. It's always been a thing for me. But now they are more vivid. More jarring.

Is it fear or anxiety? Maybe. I still have fears and anxiety, but I can't remember a time in my adult life when I have felt as much peace as I do lately.

Is it trauma residue that needs to be explored? Possibly. I think that for me, there will always be healing and growing work to do.

Medication helps sometimes. I've tried most sleeping concoctions out there. I don't drink caffeine in the evening, I have a comfortably cool bedroom, I have a fan to drown out noise, I listen to relaxing music, take a bubble bath, drink hot (decaffienated) tea. I thank God for the gift of serenity and pray that God will show me what it is that I need to discover through this particular challenge. I ask for the gift of nightmare-free sleep.

And then I lie down in bed and watch the minutes.

From The Mouth Of My Babe

My husband and I are both working hard to create a healthy partnership and a safe and loving environment for our son. I'm so grateful to be in this place, despite all of the heartache and setbacks.  But like most couples, we sometimes fight the same battles over and over again without resolution. The division of household chores is one of them.

I recently assigned my son regular chores with a very small allowance to teach him about family responsibility and help him understand how money works. So when I overheard the following conversation today, I had to giggle.

Son: Daddy, what are your family chores?
Husband: Ummm, I sometimes do the laundry.
Son: But why don't you do more chores like me and mommy?
Husband: (looking over his shoulder towards me) Busted.

Breathing New Life

I see Betty almost every day. She peeks through her closed curtains and looks towards my house. I wave. Sometimes she waves back and sometimes she doesn't. I've lived in my house for a year, and I've never seen her outside. Her husband says she has dementia.

Yesterday my son and his friend were in the front yard building dirt ramps for their matchbox cars. I was sitting on the porch when I heard Betty. "Hello Eleanor!" I had never spoken to her before, so I was surprised that she knew my name. "I hope you don't mind me being over here." She said as she walked to my porch. "I always try to watch to see when your son is out playing. It just warms my heart to see little boys play in the dirt. Your son is such a precious gift."

I thanked her for her kind words. "You know I once had two little boys of my own." She said. "Watching them play in the dirt was so special."

Later that evening, Bonnie made her nightly visit to our fence. She is a widow, and her five grown children have all moved away. "What's new?" She said. I told her about my visit with Betty. "She came out of the house??" She remarked. "You know about her boys, right? One of her sons has a mental disability and has a hard time. The other one was left by his wife and committed suicide about ten years ago. After he died, Betty just stopped coming out of her house. I guess that sweet boy of yours was enough to get her back out."

In his short life thus far, my son has brought joy to those who suffer simply by smiling his sweet smile, sharing his sensitive spirit, and reminding us of the gift of childhood innocence. Sometimes I feel sorry for myself because I only have one child and not a whole bunch of children as I had planned. But Betty reminded me that my one child is a priceless gift for which I am forever grateful.

Creative Pain

Pain, especially emotional pain, baffles me. It is at once impossible, stopping people in their tracks and weighing their souls down, and inspiring, pushing people to expand their world and grow their love.

Pain has been both of these things to me. A crusher of my spirit but also a giver of new life. This year has brought new opportunities to go medication free, to spend an incredible amount of time in therapy and 12 step work, and to experience painful growth in my marriage. 

Working through my pain is now giving me an unexpected gift. Creativity.

I never thought of myself as a creator. Never an artist. Either I didn't have these skills before, or my sense of creativity was stifled by pain, anxiety, and fear.

But God is guiding my healing in a new and unexpected direction. I am finding an amazing sense of peace in creating. I tackled my own kitchen renovation earlier in the summer, I've created design pieces for my home, and I've learned enough about sewing to make my first dress. It is satisfying to see a finished product, but as I've struggled through spiritual darkness, creating has become a form of prayer. It channels my pain into something beautiful, and it gives me the peace to see God's work in my life.

The Invisible Wife, Part Three

The Invisible Wife starts to hear a familiar voice. She feels herself in a familiar place, where all of her resources have been maxed out, her reserves empty, and her heart broken.

The familiar voice whispers, "It's time to let go. Rest for a while, I'll take care of you."

The familiar voice and the familiar place always give her that message. The one that is so very hard to remember. The message of surrender and acceptance.

She releases her grip, realizing how sore her fingers were from holding so tightly to the outcomes for which she hoped. She looks around and notices her toes need a pedicure. She notices that her aching shoulders could use a bubble bath. Her muscles could use a run.

The Invisible Wife is not invisible to God. She is learning a lesson she must learn over and over again. The message of letting go. God teaches her with ever gentle messages, allowing her to see beauty in her story and power in God's amazing work.