I Have A Problem

Over the past few years, I have developed a memory problem. Not just a silly, oh-I'm-so-forgetful memory problem, a problem that actually creates difficulty for me in my job and in my family.

The specific problem, it seems, is delayed recall. In other words, I can have an entire conversation about something, and then have that person come to me a day or week later to discuss the topic again, and I cannot remember what was said. I can record something on DVR for my son, only to have no recollection of it the next week when I see the TV. I can watch a movie (in this case, The Family Stone), and remark to my husband that I thought it was a good movie and without nudity, only to have him say, "I know. We saw it together in the theater." I've seen that movie before?

I've joked about the problem, but it's actually a pretty big deal. I have to have a handwritten planner in which I write every single solitary thing down, otherwise I fear it will be lost forever. I've been caught in one too many conversations with people in which they appear confused about my lack of recollection of a previous event, conversation, or title of something.

And I never really thought to investigate the problem until today, which is really silly considering that I work in the mental health field. Here's what I found...

Did you know that humans and rodents have trouble with delayed recall when placed under stress-inducing conditions? Their cortisol levels rise and impair their memory capabilities. In one study, rats were placed in a shock box. Then a week later, they had to complete a memory task. But for some rats, they were shown the shock box again as a reminder. They weren't shocked again, just shown the box. And those rats who saw a reminder of their trauma, if you will, were significantly more likely to rely on less efficient memory strategies.

I was hooked on reading this research today, because it suggests that perhaps the effects of betrayal trauma and the resulting high levels of stress hormones flowing through my body may be to blame for my embarrassing memory problems as of late. That I may not in fact just be going insane. I'm actually dealing with an impaired neural system as a result of being exposed to the shock box one too many times.

Anyone else have mysterious and embarrassing memory problems? Been exposed to the shock box one too many times?

Empowerment

My brand new washer was making a buzzing noise during the spin cycle and wouldn't work. My BRAND NEW washer. So I pulled it out from the wall, got a screwdriver, and started taking things apart (after unplugging it first, of course). I found a bobby pin stuck in the drain pipe. So I removed it and put everything back together. The washer works fine now.

The garbage disposal was not functioning. So I bought a new one, uninstalled the old, and installed a pretty and efficient garbage disposal (did you know they come in pretty colors now?).

I wanted to take out the ridiculous shelves someone had put in the pantry. So I got out a hammer and started hitting the shelves until I had every one of them removed. I installed new shelves and painted one wall a pretty gray.

The walls in the kitchen dining room area were a combination of mismatched wood. I bought some primer and paint, got the wooden walls ready, and painted them in the most beautiful shade of off-white. Makes the house look 20 years newer.

Owning my first house has been therapeutic. And empowering. I am a smart woman, and I can do a lot of things. Like Jane so eloquently wrote this morning, I don't need no man.

Don't get me wrong, though. I want to be with the man I am getting to know in recovery, but my survival in the world and my happiness does not depend on him.

Letting Life Happen

When we decided that we would be moving to a different state a while back, I had no idea what our living situation would be in our new city. We were separated and paying an insane amount of rent between the two of us. I had no intention at that point to move back in with Husband. So let's just say we were not exactly poised to settle down and buy a house together.

So when I started looking into rentals in the new city, I was only considering me and Child. When I inquired about new places, I inquired as a family of two. Several people told me that I should be looking at purchasing a home instead of renting. The market was a total buyer's market, and I had a good job. I thought that was a silly idea because we had never owned a house, we were a mess of a couple, I didn't have enough of a down payment, and I just didn't want any more commitments.

But the more I thought and prayed about it, the more I felt like maybe I should not dismiss the idea without exploring it. I have a history of trying to control my life and everyone in it, and this was a chance to just let life happen. 

I unexpectedly got an early work bonus that accounted for the rest of the down payment I needed, and I was able to qualify to purchase a home on my own. So I thought, what the heck, I'll look at houses with a realtor and see what happens. I fully expected it to not work out. But we ended up finding the most adorable little fixer-upper in a really nice neighborhood. As soon as I saw the house, it felt like it was where I should be. It was so....normal. And feeling like a normal family was appealing, even though we aren't a normal family. I still wasn't sure I wanted Husband to live with us, but his recovery pace was starting to pick up, and I could see some real changes.

We put in an offer for a lease to purchase, because I still couldn't commit to a house right away. I wanted a few months to "try it out" first. I was convinced that the sellers wouldn't go for it. And I was at peace with just letting it go. But the sellers agreed to the lease to purchase, and they also offered a really good deal on the house.

So we moved in August to our house that wasn't yet really our house. An in-house separation. And that first month was rocky. We had to re-learn how to be in the same house, and sometimes it really wasn't pretty. Again, I just knew the deal for the house would fall through. I wouldn't get financing because of my husband's not so great track record with money, husband would relapse, the lenders would change their mind. Surely, something would go wrong. I felt like we would not get the house and it would be a sign that our marriage isn't moving forward and it would be time to divorce.

But last week, despite all odds, we closed on the house. I can still hardly believe it happened. I really struggle with feeling like God is involved in my life and leading me in the right direction, but with this, I do believe there was a message. I feel like this means that I can move forward. And that I can think about moving forward, ever so cautiously, with Husband. I could be wrong, and only time will tell.

But we just bought our first house together. The most lovely little house that symbolizes new, albeit sometimes rocky and awkward, beginnings.

The Great Betrayal

I am still unpacking boxes from our move. I found a box yesterday that contained a groomsmen gift from my brother to my husband. My brother got married before D-Day, and both me and Husband were in the wedding party. The gift I found was a poker set, something my husband had never opened because he doesn't play poker. Child was intrigued and wanted to open it. Inside was a card from my brother to my husband.

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

I am so glad that you are standing up with me on the most important day of my life. I thank God that He brought you and Eleanor together. You are an amazing husband and father, and I couldn't ask for a better match for my sister. I look to you as a role model for what a loyal and caring husband is. I'm glad to have another brother!

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

I had a couple of reactions to reading the card. First, I was relieved in a strange way to receive confirmation that I was not somehow missing something that everyone else saw in Husband. We were all duped into thinking that Husband was an honest and selfless man with no secrets. The second reaction was sadness and empathy for my brother. I know what it was like to find out that years of my life were a lie, and it hurts that my brother also had to experience that along with the rest of my family. 

I had absolutely no idea that my seemingly loving and selfless husband was consumed by an entire alternate world of infidelity until I accidentally discovered it with one click of a mouse. And what hurt most was not the infidelity, but the realization that my life as I knew it for eight years was not reality.

"Perhaps robbing someone of his or her story is the greatest betrayal of all." -Anna Fels

Fighting The Good Fight

This is the time of the year when it's harder to fight the fog. I notice myself having trouble concentrating, my memory fades, and my energy level drops to record lows. It's the depression fog. The  cold, dark nights try to steal my happiness. The lack of sunshine, trips to the park, and long runs in the sun, coupled with the impending holiday season, threaten my progress.

But I'm not giving in this year. I know what's happening, and I'm fighting it. I'm so sick and tired of the fog that steals my joy. The fog that makes me want to curl up under the covers and sleep until Spring.

I joined a gym. I tie up my shoes and exercise every day. This week I did Zumba and Yoga. Maybe next week it will be swimming. I'm eating foods that give me energy. I'm eliminating the nonsense of busyness. Simplicity and serenity are my medicine. I continue to rely on modern medicine and therapy to fight this battle, and I am not ashamed to admit that I need many sources of help.

I don't want my Husband and Child to get a wife and mother consumed by the winter fog. I'm fighting this. Some days may be better than others, but now that I know what I'm up against, I'm better prepared to fight.

Still Adjusting To The New Husband

Me: "When you weren't open with your plans tonight, I felt unsafe. One of my boundaries about honesty includes not omitting any information in conversation. So, I would like to sleep separately from you and be cautious until I feel safer."

Husband: "What I'm hearing you say is that you feel unsafe [yay for therapy dialogue technique]. I'm sorry that I wasn't completely transparent with you. I understand why you might feel unsafe because I used to withhold information from you a lot. I don't know why I wasn't just open, it was a mistake in communication on my part. I do want you to know that I am not hiding anything. I have not slipped or relapsed. I will work on being completely open with you in communication."

Huh. I already feel better about last night. My husband would never have that response if he was actually hiding something. He would avoid confrontation and would get angry and deflect questioning. I know this from lots of experience living with a liar for many years.

It will take some time, I guess, to adjust to the new in-recovery Husband, but I am definitely not complaining.

Hiding Information Is Lying

Me: "Where are you?"
Husband: "Driving to therapy."
Me: "Oh, OK. Blah, blah, funny story, blah, blah"
[people's voices in the background]
Me: "You are not in your car."
Husband: "Well, I'm at Long John Silver's {side note...that place is so gross}."
Me: "You lied to me."
Husband: "Well, I'm still on my way to therapy, I just had to stop to eat."
Me: "If you are out to eat, tell me you are out to eat, not driving."

I don't care if the topic is as benign as eating fast food or as serious as infidelity. Lying by omission is a real thing.

From my boundary list...

I have a right to honesty in my marriage.

What this means…No lying or keeping secrets or half-truths. No omitting information for any reason. Communicating openly and truthfully. Calling to tell me if/why you will be late coming home for any reason. No secret email accounts, chat accounts, cell phone numbers, texts, or phone calls. 

Husband will be sleeping in another bedroom, right after I had just started feeling more safe in his presence. It seems silly to get upset over something like this after all we've been through. But dishonesty, no matter how meaningless, pushes the reset button on my feelings of safety in his company.

I'm angry, sad, and fearful. I need to pull out my recovery tool kit and pray for guidance.

And some support from blog land would help, too. I'm learning to ask for things when I need them.

A Historic Day In Eleanor's World

This will forever be remembered as the day Husband and I resolved a problem with honest communication and sincerity. I would like to mark this occasion, the 8th of November, 2013, with a full recount of this momentous event.

I was angry with Husband. Usually, I try to come up with excuses to avoid him when I'm angry so that I don't actually have to talk about it (healthy, I know). But we've been getting along much better lately. And avoiding him wasn't as easy as when we were barely speaking.

So I did something bold. I told him that I was angry and why. His typical response in the past would be to try to bring it back on me, that somehow whatever I was angry about was my fault. He would pout and give me the silent treatment. BUT, today he said that he was very sorry for the behavior that I was angry about (money related), and he showed me his plan to improve that behavior in the future.

I was so surprised how quickly my anger subsided when he apologized and showed me evidence that he was working on this particular behavior. And I was even more surprised when Husband owned up to his behavior, didn't try to minimize, blame, or manipulate, and just said "I'm sorry." And still more amazing is that I didn't keep that resentment with me. I was able to let it go.

Is THIS a glimpse of what a healthy marriage looks like???

It Just Creeped In...

I couldn't get out of bed this morning. I slept for eight hours, but felt like I didn't sleep at all. I mustered up every ounce of energy I had and got Child ready for school. I left the house in jeans, with my hair soaking wet, and with huge bags under my eyes. As I turned into the parking lot of my work, it hit me.

The busyness crept in when I wasn't expecting it. I was running ragged. I hadn't practiced self-care in almost two weeks. I was eating junk food. I wasn't exercising. I was working on "stuff" from when I woke up to when I went to bed. Sure things were going well with Husband, but I was medicating big time with busyness.

So, instead of parking at work, I turned the car around and drove back home. I got in bed and let my body sleep until it felt rested. And four hours later, I woke up.

Busyness is my crutch. I think that because things were going well with Husband, I let my guard down. But now that I recognize what's going on, I'm going to take deep breaths and cancel my plans for tonight.

Because who in their right mind plans to demo a kitchen pantry and repaint it on a week night after working all day and cooking dinner? The woman who medicates with busyness to escape real life, that's who.

Pain Behind The Eyes

Literally. For the past two weeks, I have had an almost constant headache. Not bad enough to keep me home from work, but bad enough to make it hard to stay positive. I drastically increased my water intake, made some diet changes, exercise changes, sleep changes, and all the other 'go-to' things I do for headaches. So far, no luck. Maybe it's stress. Maybe it's something else. I don't know. I have a family history of pretty crazy headache-related stuff. I hope I'm not joining the family lineage.

I can sense that Husband thinks I'm faking it. But I just don't care what he thinks.

I've been avoiding looking at a computer screen whenever possible. It's unavoidable at work, but it's meant that reading or writing in blog-land just hasn't happened lately.

That's it. That's all I have to say. I'll just call this the most boring post ever.

It's All So Counterintuitive

It came back. Somehow. 

Letting go. Detaching. No more enabling.

It takes a lot of effort. But the payoff is sanity. 

Husband doesn't call to say when he's going to be home? I don't care. I'm not planning my evenings around his schedule. If he comes home at an unexpected time and there is no dinner for him, it's not my problem. Husband wants to watch TV instead of talk to me? I don't care. I get more me-time. Husband doesn't want to do things that will rebuild trust? I don't care. It's not my job to help him earn my trust.

But what happens when I finally give up is counterintuitive to me. When I let go, detach, and give up, Husband starts to hang on, attach, and try harder. He's been calling me regularly. That laundry pile? Folded and put away. He says he appreciates me. He wants to spend time with me. He offers to give a back rub without expecting anything in return.

On an intellectual level, I get it. I've been through this cycle before. I am the overfunctioner and enabler, and I always hit a limit. Once I let go and stop functioning for the whole relationship, Husband steps in and works at the marriage. 

Emotionally, it's harder to understand. Why does getting to my absolute limit and completely giving up on my marriage result in Husband trying?

Getting Back on Track

Frequent nightmares, panic, and incessant intrusive thoughts. These are my trauma experiences. They cause sleepless nights, the need for anxiety medication, and a whole lot of pain.

I participated in the Addo Recovery program earlier this year, but I lost track about half way through the program. My horrible excuse is that I just got too busy to take the time for myself. But I'm recommitting to it today, because I deserve healing too.

If you don't already know, here is what Addo Recovery has to say about their program...

"If your loved one has a pornography or sexual addiction, you may be left feeling tremendous anxiety, heartache and fear. It's not your fault, and your feelings are completely natural. This condition is called Betrayal Trauma. We have a free six-week program for you.

 

Unfortunately many women with Betrayal Trauma aren't receiving proper care, leading to long-term negative effects.

 

We can help. You can be restored to health and peace. We can't change what has happened, but we can help change how you deal with it. Your future is full of hope."

 

Please go to www.addorecovery.com/join.

 

The online portion of the program starts this Thursday October 3rd with the first Group next Thursday the 10th of October.

 

If you can't make this week, they will be opening another round of the program the 17th of October.

 

I'm doing this for me this time. No more excuses.

 

Here are some of the stories of the brave women who are fighting this fight.

 

 

Sidreis' Story (Short) from Addo Recovery on Vimeo.

The Aftermath

Between the meltdown in the early hours of this morning and Harriet's inspiring post (I promise I loved it Harriet, and I love your courage!), I felt a little glimmer of the strength within me that has been so hard to reach lately.

I started thinking about this incident and how Harriet described padding consequences. I was all fired up when I wrote that post. But, do you want to know what I did about it to enforce boundaries? Nothing! Not a single thing. I let it go. I even enabled it. This week, when I saw that Husband's bank account was getting low, I reminded him and asked him to please not overspend this week. It was lame, I know. How many times have my pleading words really been heard by someone who is a recovering addict? Right, like zero.

After my meltdown, I opened my accounts to find that Husband has $4.04 left in his account. And I know that he wrote at least one check for over $50.00 this week. He's going to overspend his account. And today is not a day where I back down. I left work, went to the bank, and changed the account settings so that it no longer overdrafts from my savings. My hard-earned money that I am saving for a house for our Child is safe. And sometime today or tomorrow, a check will bounce from his account.

I am tired of padding the consequences. Please God let this fire within me last so that I can protect myself and my child.

Over The Cliff

Last Night's Nightmare...
He wants me to go out to dinner with him and a "friend". When I meet her, I know instantly that she is not a friend. The two are involved. She starts to criticize me. I arrive in my usual goodwill dress and hair pulled back. She calls me boring. She, on the other hand, is dressed in a black corset, long, dark hair and lots of makeup. We sit down at the table, and I realize that I somehow have her phone. I open up the pictures to find graphic pictures, pictures of trips they've taken, pictures of them as a couple.

I start to panic and want to call someone in my family to come get me. But I can't find their numbers. I'm sobbing and Husband starts to laugh at me. He whispers things into her ear, and he starts to talk about my flaws. Naming them one by one just like he criticized me in emails. I want to leave so bad, but I can't find anyone's number to call. So I just sob as they laugh at me.

This Morning...
Meltdown. I woke up sobbing. I continued to sob. I just sat in the dark and cried. I haven't cried like that since the day I found out the full extent of Husband's acting out.

I feel a little better after melting down. I have felt so weak and helpless lately, but now I feel a surge of strength. I hope it lasts.

On The Verge

I feel like I'm on the verge of a meltdown. My sanity is hanging by a thread. I'm trying to do everything in my power to keep it together. I'm exercising, practicing relaxation techniques, distracting myself with fun activities with Child, and concentrating on work. But, I feel the meltdown. My cheeks start to get red as I feel my blood pressure rising in the afternoon. I feel dehydrated and have a dull headache that stays with me all day.

I'm going through the motions and doing all the "stuff" a wife of a sex addict is told will help. I'm trying to connect with a Higher Power that seems ever elusive. I'm trying to let go. To detach. I'm trying to get back whatever it was I had that made me so calm this spring.

But I'm so damn tired. I'm tired of being unappreciated, ignored, and abandoned. I'm tired of living in a marriage where I function as the maid, the caregiver, and the occasional sex toy.

I don't know what happened to my serenity. I'm pretty sure it left the day that Husband moved back into my house.

So now what?

Purging The Bad Memories

I'm very much looking forward to the end of this Bad Month. I know that I have regressed in my own healing and recovery this month as a sea of bad memories has taken over my serenity-filled mind. Everything Husband is doing lately is suggesting that he is fully invested in his own recovery, but he is not invested in me. So I am re-detaching. And that helps.

But it also helps to keep purging the bad memories...

The first night in the hospital, I had contractions every 1 - 2 minutes, but I was not progressing in labor. I sat in a bed in the dark. Alone. Husband was sleeping. I should let him sleep. I thought. It was the right thing to do. He needs rest so that he can help me later. I could handle this on my own. The nurses were a bit worried with my contractions, so at 5 AM, they let me take a shower and then had me walk. A night without sleep, and I was only at the beginning of labor. I woke up Husband because we were moving to another room.

8 AM, the pain was intense, and the exhaustion was taking a toll. I was sitting on an exercise ball, crying. Husband was watching TV. He's not really paying attention to me. I thought. But it's me who is in labor. Focus on the positive, Eleanor.

They broke my water, and I started to get very sick. I was getting sick, then crying, then getting sick, then crying. The most-wonderful-nurse-ever tried to soothe me. She rubbed my back, she prayed with me, she dimmed the lights in the room. Husband watched TV. The nurse suggested an epidural. I readily agreed.

The pain was subsiding. The nurse suggested that I get some sleep because I was finally progressing in labor. I drifted off. The next thing I remember was waking up in the delivery room alone. Where is Husband? I thought. I asked the nurse. She said he left to go to hang out with his mom, who had been hounding him with phone calls and trying to sneak into the delivery room even though I told her she could not be there.

Hours later, no progress. I was overdue, had a huge baby in me, had exhausted all possibilities of moving labor along, and I started to spike a high fever. The most-unelpful-nurse-ever told me that they were worried about the baby. It had been so long. Something like 30 hours. The baby was stressed, there was evidence of infection. Within five minutes they had me in the operating room, an emergency c-section. Baby was born with a fever, but was treated and looked to be OK.

I was delirious by that point but knew that nursing Child early was crucial to establishing the nursing bond. So I nursed, through the night. Husband slept.

The nurse told me that I needed to get up out of bed and take a shower the next morning. The pain was excruciating. The delirium was making me dizzy. I had an allergic reaction to one of the meds they pumped into the IV that made me really itchy. 

I made it to the shower. I started crying. How am I going to move to wash myself? I thought through tears. "Husband?" I yelled into the room. He was sleeping. "Husband!" I yelled as loud as I could considering that I just had my stomach cut open. The nurse heard me outside in the hallway. "Do you need something?" she said. "I just really want some help from my husband." I said through tears. She managed to wake him up. 

"What do you need?" He said. "I just really need someone to help wash me because I hurt so bad." Husband look confused. "Well, what do you want me to do?" "I don't know, just put some soap on the washcloth for me." I said. "I'm not sure what you want me to do." He replied. I just want comforted! I want you to pay attention to me. Show empathy. Recognize that I feel like I'm dying here and don't know what to do! I thought. "Forget it." I said, and he left the room.

The next night Child wanted to nurse all night long. The nurses tried to help me get him into the bassinet, but he would have none of it. So I sat awake all night holding Child. Nursing Child. Conversing with the nurses to get help. And Husband slept. 

When I think back to our experience in the hospital, I don't remember Husband ever touching me. No wiping away tears, no hand holding, no rubbing my back, no kiss, no hugging. No encouraging words. Just silence. For years, I thought that I was weak in how I handled labor and Child's infancy. Now I know that I was just tired from doing it all alone.

Seeing Me

When Husband moved out of our home, I was really worried about how our Child would adjust. I did a bunch of research on how to help him through the transition, and I decided that we would get a pet. A fish. Child was ecstatic. He wanted a pet so badly, and was giddy to go pick out a fish.

So, I started my research. How do you keep a tank healthy for a fish? What do I need? What's the right size? How do I have a happy little fish and take care of him well? I learned about nitrogen cycles and gravel vacuums and filters. And when I felt ready, I let Child pick out a fish and name him. It sounds silly, but that fish was our little buddy during that lonely time. We watched him a lot, and he was so calming.

I don't do things half-way. If I'm going to do something, like get a pet fish, you better believe that the fish will be the best kept fish there ever was.

About a week ago, fishy got sick. Husband has been hands-off when it comes to the fish, but he offered to get the supplies I needed to help fishy. I said OK and appreciated the help. As it turns out, Husband became interested in the fish as well.

So today, he said that he wanted to walk me through how to take care of the fish. He explained the nitrogen cycle to me, the gravel vacuum, the filter. And in the most respectful voice I could, I told him that I already knew that information. He was surprised. "How did you know all that?" He said.

This is an example of how Husband doesn't really see me. He doesn't really know me. If he really knew me, he would know that I would never do something like buy a fish without reading everything there is to read about how to care for a fish.

I am thoughtful. I try hard. I hope that someday Husband will see this and know me.

Clouding

Sometimes anxiety feels like I have cataracts in my brain. Despite my best efforts, I just can't see clearly. My thinking is clouded by fear and panic. By unrealistic expectations for myself. 

Here are two of the ways that my thinking is clouded by unrealistic expectations...

I want everyone in the whole world to like me.

I don't ever want to do anything wrong.

Those two thoughts at times control me. I feel like they get in the way of my progress and healing. They mess with clear and realistic thinking.

When I have such extreme expectations for myself, I am just setting myself up for failure. When I used to go into this all-or-none thinking, my therapist would say, "What's the worst thing that could happen?"

Since I moved, I don't go to my beloved therapist anymore, so I'll ask myself that question. What's the worst thing that could happen?

Someone could decide not to like me.

I could do something wrong.

Are those two things the end of the world? Not hardly.

And who am I to think that I could attain the status of being so amazing that no one would ever dislike me or that I would never do anything wrong?

Writing about it helps. I can see the patterns of cloudy thinking. Now if I could just let go...

Through Addict Eyes

I see her picture. She is average looking. Overweight. Dresses immodestly. I've seen her body in a more intimate way than I've seen even my best friend's body. Her image is seared into my brain.

Why is she what he wanted? I ask myself, knowing full well that this will never make sense to a non-SA. I will never understand why he wanted her, or the others. But I can't stop the obsessive thoughts.

I am attractive. I have blonde hair, blue eyes, petite body. I am kind, interesting, and generous. I am honest, loyal, and smart.

But at some point, I wasn't enough for the addict. I would have been more than enough for many men, but His fix couldn't be satisfied with loyal, smart, and pretty. It had to be more. It had to be daring, risky, potent.

And to the addict, I became boring, rigid, and ordinary. Husband took on the persona of lonely devoted father just looking for some attention. He justified his actions with every new email, every new picture, every new post. His tactic worked, really well. He was skilled at his craft, an expert in seduction. In getting what he wanted.

But the wreckage he left behind can't be undone. I can't un-see the critical emails about his cold wife. I can't un-open the explicit pictures tagged with my husband's praise. I can't un-read that I wasn't good in bed, that I lacked sexual prowess, that I was less than.

He wants to repair the wreckage. He desperately wants to heal the wounds. But they are etched in my being. They haunt my dreams. I will survive, and I will thrive, and I may even love again, but I will never be the same.

Slipping

September is the bad month. The month of anniversaries of betrayals and heartache. The month of extra trips to the doctor to deal with insomnia, weight gain, and inexplicable fatigue.

It feels like there is a 500 lb weight on me, holding me down. Crushing my spirit. Stealing my joy. I have to talk myself into taking a shower and staying at work. It would be much easier to just skip it all. Lie in bed, waiting for night to come. I save every last ounce of positive energy for my Child. And it gets used up quickly. I don't have energy for anything else.

And the slip. Somewhere in the dark thoughts I remember that there is an "other woman" from the past who lives in the same state we moved to last month. The one whose emails filled my husband's inbox on D-Day. The one who sent cookies to my Child and explicit pictures to my Husband. The one who wrecked her own marriage and children in September. The family who was destroyed in part by the actions of my husband. And she consumes my thoughts. She lives only an hour from me now. I have no energy to fight my obsession. I google her. I've googled her many times before. I see her kids, her ex-husband. I ache for her children. I am overcome with grief for her ex-husband, who by all accounts is a dedicated Christian father. The pictures only bring me more pain and anger. Another  marriage broken by deceit. Some days I want to reach out to them. Tell them that I know their pain.

The heaviness of addiction ties me down in September. Crushing my progress. But I know that I will wake up in October. I have before, and I will do it again.

What's Communication?

It is not a new discovery that my husband and I stink at communicating. It has been a thorn in our sides long before addiction, and I've written about it many times on my handy dandy blog.

I tried a while back to read books on how to be a better communicator with Husband. Husband seemed to be sharing more with me, and I didn't know how to respond. I have this history of shutting down and shutting out. So I wanted to try harder. I understood the general principles of the books, but I found them very hard to put into practice. So, confession time, I just gave up. Our relationship was easy. We'd pass as friends, but not best friends. However, I started to get this nagging question running through my head. Is this it? Is this what we're supposed to be? Is this all there is to our marriage? Surely not, right?

We went to the book store tonight. It's a favorite activity for our family. I was actually looking for a different book, but I came across a book written for couples that deals with restoring emotional intimacy after sexual addiction. It even came with exercises and questions to discuss with your partner. Hey! I thought. Maybe this is what would help me be more open with Husband.

I carried that book along with several others to the table to decide if I was really courageous enough to approach him about reading the book together. But before I could even say anything, he noticed the book. I told him about my difficulty in connecting with him and that I wanted to change that about myself. I asked him if this might be something we could try, to which he quickly replied, "I want to do more of my own therapy before anything like that."

Shut down. I didn't get the book. So, I guess for now...this is it. And I'm accepting it.

Instead, I chose a book by Brene Brown on recognizing shame and embracing vulnerability. I can't remember the exact title, but I know it has "I am enough" in there somewhere. I think it was the better choice.

Things In Common

Our problems are so very different. Some days, it seems as though we couldn't possibly agree on anything. Husband and I counted the number of times we had the same opinion on things one day as we were unpacking, and we were 1 for 23. We agreed once. Disagreed 23 times.

Yesterday, Husband and I were sitting outside reflecting on our first month living back in the same house, starting new jobs, and helping our child through transitions.

"I feel important for the first time in my life," said Husband.

I think with that one sentence I understood Husband more than I ever have before.

We agree on this...We both want to feel important and worthy of love. I've tried to fill that void with achievement and validation from others. Husband has tried to fill that void with meaningless sex.

We both have a hard time recognizing our worth as children of God. But we're trying to figure it out, and I think that maybe we could figure this thing out better as a team.

Can Someone Please Hand Me My Soapbox?

Dear Man who Honks, Whistles, Howls, Yells, or Winks at me while I run,

I have put up with you for years. And I know that this is not because I am some sort of beauty queen. It is simply because I am a woman. And I am running outside. I know that I am not the only one to encounter you on a regular basis during running.

Let me tell you a little about me, since you seem so interested in objectifying me. I am not new to being objectified. Because I am a woman, I have been objectified much of my life. I am also married to a sex addict. So I have lived many years with a husband who saw me only for what I could give him sexually.

So when you honk, whistle, or do whatever it is you choose to do to get my attention, I am telling you right now that I am not flattered. I am a smart, kind, and generous woman. If you talked to me for a while, you would know that I am interesting. I have things to say. I have opinions.

And my opinion of you is not that you are a bad person. My opinion is that you make bad choices when you objectify me. You may think that I am asking for it. I wear tight-fitting clothing to run. But what you don't know is that my use of tight-fitting clothing is not for you to ogle at me. It is because I chafe with loose fitting clothing. Do you know what chafing is? It's when your skin becomes raw and bleeds from loose fitting clothing during long-distance running. I don't believe that I need to endure that pain just so that you will have less of a chance of noticing me on the side of the road. I have noticed that your honks and winks are not really affected by what I wear anyways. You do it even when I run bundled up in the winter. And even if a woman were to choose to wear tight-fitting clothing because she believes that it makes her attractive, that does not condone your disrespectful behavior.

I hope that by knowing a little more about me, you will understand why I had to flick you off this morning when you howled. It was not because I do not like you as a person. I do not know you at all. It is because years of trauma surrounding being objectified have led me to simply put my foot down. I will not tolerate this anymore. I will not stand silently and pretend that I don't hear you or see you. I will probably not ever flick you off again, because that was an impulse move. But it felt good to do it once.

I hope that one day you educate yourself about who women really are beyond their ability to please you sexually.

Peacefully,

Woman Runner

Two Years

We're coming up on the two year anniversary of D-Day. Sometimes it feels like that was such a long time ago. And other times, I remember every detail of that day like it was yesterday.

So much has happened in the last two years.

When I think back to my expectations (those silly things) about what my life would look like two years after D-Day, I realize that my life really doesn't look at all how I expected. I thought, hoped, stupidly expected, whatever you want to call it, that maybe Husband would be finished with his 12 steps, and our marriage would be better than ever. I thought that I would be finished with my 12 steps as well. I thought that the word addiction would be a fading memory, and that we would have moved on to better things. I thought that my personal relationship with God would be strengthened by this trial, and I would remain committed to the Catholic church. Instead, Husband is still formally working through his first step (although he has gone through disclosure with me and Therapist), I am struggling through my third step, and addiction is still very much in the forefront of our daily thoughts and conversations. I struggle to remain open to God's presence in my life. I have lingering anger towards my church. I still question why this had to happen.

I do have a lot to be grateful for over the last two years. Husband is in recovery for sure. I am also in recovery. After the worst summer in the history of summers last year and a 9-ish month separation, we're in a state of reconciliation with one another.

But there remain many unanswered questions about our future. The biggest one being whether or not our marriage can survive. Sure, we get along, we communicate (sort of, kind of, note very well), we have healthy boundaries, but we still very much live as peaceful acquaintances. That's great for stability in our household, I'm just not sure that I'm attracted to Husband anymore in a romantic way. I am proud of him for the work he's done, for changing his life, and for being committed to our family. There are fleeting moments of attraction, but I worry that the damage of addiction can't be fully repaired. And if I'm being completely honest, if it wasn't for Child, we wouldn't still be married.

 I get sad when I think about how my feelings towards Husband have changed as a consequence of addiction. I used to think that Husband was amazing. And those qualities that made me think he was amazing are still there, and I see them more and more every day. But I don't still think that way about Husband. I hope that this changes, and I do believe that I have to continue to make the choice to love and accept if I am going to move forward in the marriage.

Two years...filled with some of the lowest lows, but also filled with change and personal growth. I'm still sad for what I've lost, but I'm not giving up hope for the future.

Eating My Words

Remember yesterday when I was all gung-ho about accepting and appreciating the fact that I am a working mother? That those heart-wrenching moments only surface occasionally? I take it all back.

I am an utter mess today. Yesterday was my child's first day at a new school. It went really, really well. No tears and happy stories heard at the dinner table last night. This morning, not so much. "I don't want to go to school! I want to stay home with you mommy! I want you, mommy, not my teacher!" [Insert breaking mommy's heart here.]

Drop off at school today consisted of crying and clinging from us both. I didn't want to leave Child just as much as Child didn't want to leave me. Child cried, I cried. It was a complete disaster. So now I am sitting at my office desk, still a mess, and feeling like the most horrible mom on the planet. I wish I could explain to him why it has to be this way. Why mommy has to work so that he can have a place to live and food to eat. Why mommy just can't stay home because daddy hasn't been able to hold a job, or be responsible, or take an active role in the family finances. How mommy's number one dream growing up was to be a stay-at-home mommy, and this isn't her dream. Her dream was not to go to work and drop off her crying child at school.

Child cried in the beginning at the previous school too, but by the time we left, Child was crying because of missing school and wanting to go back. I pray that this happens here too.

THOSE blogs

Do you read THOSE blogs? You know, the ones that project an image of a perfectly happy family with the beautiful stay-at-home mom? They have a nice house, they have perfectly dressed kids, the husband is always giving compliments, flowers, and cooking dinner? The ones where the wife goes to coffee with friends while her kids are in school, is a champ at Pinterest DIY projects, and always manages to make gourmet dinners from scratch?

I used to read them all the time. I wanted to be like them. I wanted my life to look like that. I tried to make my life picture perfect.

And then I found out that I am married to an addict. I've been cheated on, betrayed, lied to, and deceived for my entire marriage. I began boycotting THOSE blogs, because I felt completely inadequate when I read them. I felt guilty for being a working mother, for canceling gatherings with friends, for not being able to cook, for forgetting to take the perfect pictures of my child each month. Then I discovered the blogs of women whose husbands were also being swallowed up by addiction. These women were so real. So honest. Their lives weren't picture perfect, by any means. But they were fighting. Trying to keep afloat, take care of their kids, and manage the impossible emotions that come with knowing their husbands were living a double life. I started to realize that THOSE blogs may be projecting only the pretty parts of people's lives. Their reality may have lots of dark places like mine. And even if their reality is truly picture-perfect, I am thankful for my own reality.

For so long I resented the fact that I had to be the primary breadwinner. I felt like I got a raw deal. It wasn't supposed to be this way. Husband had promised to provide for the family, and he did not follow through on that promise. My heart ached when I read blogs about stay-at-home moms doing special projects with their kids. But the truth is that being the primary breadwinner gave me many options when I found out that Husband was an addict. I didn't have the burden of worrying about looking for a job or trying to make ends meet. It gave me freedom to make choices that I otherwise couldn't have made. It allowed me to provide for my child, regardless of Husband. And although there are some days where those heart-wrenching feelings surface, I feel lucky to be a working mother. I know that I am doing the absolute very best for my child.

So I may not be the picture-perfect stay-at-home mom, but I care just as much if not more about my child's well being. My life is messy, and certainly not Pinterest worthy. But it's full of love and devotion. And I hope that in the end, that's what really matters.

Successes and Failures

After having one of those days, where one innocent email at work sent me into a spiral of negative thinking, I tried to start my day with positive thinking. I reminded myself of my successes at work, my ability to do my job well, and my strong work ethic. And then I let go.

I then proceeded to have a huge success at work this morning. In fact, I was feeling so pumped up after my success that I decided that I needed a reward. So I went and bought myself a nice lunch that probably contained enough calories to meet my quota for the whole day, if not two whole days.

And I felt the spiral coming back, this time telling me that because I ate one unhealthy meal, I was likely going to become overweight. And then I would become obese. And then my Husband wouldn't be attracted to me. And my co-workers would judge me. And then I would lose my friends. And my job.

It seems so silly when I type out my thoughts, but it doesn't seem so silly when they are in my head.

I need to do a little cognitive adjustment here.

I had a success at work. It was perhaps not the best idea to reward myself with food, because I am working towards using food in a healthy way to simply nourish my body. But, I generally eat healthy. I generally take care of my body.

Successes and failures are part of life. And I am OK.

Message Of The Day

Today at church, the priest spoke about doing the hard things that help draw us closer to God. He gave two examples of things we might consider doing.

1. Work towards rebuilding trust with someone who has broken it.

2. Forgive someone who has wronged you and move forward with your life and your relationship.

Ouch.

Tough pills to swallow for the wife of a recovering addict.

I haven't forgiven and I don't work on trust. It's easier for me to not forgive because it gives me a sense (false sense, perhaps) of protection against addiction. It's easier for me to not notice when Husband is being trustworthy because then I don't have to put myself in a place of vulnerability.

Things for me to consider...

My Dad

Growing up, I had a hard time understanding my dad. When I was little, he was a bit stern. He spanked us and yelled at us, especially my brother, who was known for his amazing temper tantrums. My dad wasn't around much. He worked constantly to try to make ends meet, always gone on evenings and weekends.

As I got older, I got to know my dad more and discovered that we were just alike in so many ways. I have always had a very different personality than my mom, we both recognized this early on because it created lots of problems for us. But I knew that I could always count on my dad to understand me. He understood why I didn't want to be the center of attention, why crowds made me nervous, why reading books about anything and everything was a perfect way to spend free time.

There's something else we had in common. Distance. My perception is that both me and my dad preferred to be comfortably distant from people, lest we risk entering into a moment of vulnerability.

This has changed in the past few years. My dad was the one who came to be with me and help me make tough decisions when I was in a state of shock after D-Day. He has also, over the years, become much more contemplative. He's been through an enormous transformation of his faith, even changing careers because of it. Many people in his community look to him for guidance in matters of faith, and even more people look to him as a kind and loving friend.

But today, I want to talk about my dad as a champion of our cause. He has the kind of job where he has a regular audience, listening intently to what he has to say. And he's started to discuss the uncomfortable stuff, the stuff no one wants to talk about. He's started writing and speaking about the negative effects of pornography, of a sexualized culture, of the lack of respect for women as more than their looks. And I think it might be even harder for him, as a man, to speak about these topics than it is for me, as a woman (and he's not even doing it anonymously!).

There was a time when I didn't understand my dad. I didn't understand his distance, and I didn't know enough about his difficult childhood to understand.

But my dad today is my fellow warrior in this fight. And this is one of the greatest blessings I could have ever imagined.

God Bless the Freaks

"God Bless The Freaks"

...said a bumper sticker I saw on my morning run.

This might be my new favorite phrase. I've been called a freak in my life before, and it wasn't used  as a term of endearment. And although it can be used as a terribly hurtful word, freak isn't always used as a derogatory term.

The definition I like the best is: "An eccentric or nonconformist person, especially a member of a counterculture".

And that definition, that's me. And that's many wives and partners of sex addicts. After years of heartache and sometimes even physical manifestations of our mental anguish, we realize that porn, a sexualized culture, and casual sex are not OK. But this idea is counter to what our culture tells us. Our culture tells us that we should lighten up, just be more easy going, join our husbands in viewing porn, or be more sexually attractive. That should solve our problems.

Our boundaries, our loving detachment, our separations/divorces, and our abstinence are noncomformist and countercultural. But our refusal to accept a sex-obsessed culture has saved many of our lives, helped bring us out of depression, and led us to a greater relationship with God and ourselves. For some of us, it has even led us to a greater joy than we've ever experienced before.

My name is Eleanor, and I am proud to be a freak.

The Dreams That Haunt Me

Last Week

I'm so tired. I lay my head down on my pillow, and before I know it, I'm out. In a deep sleep. I see a garage sale. It's my garage sale, and my mom is helping me with it. I have finally decided to get rid of all of the baby stuff I have been storing. I decide to let it go since I will not get to have more children. I go inside for a minute. I return to the garage and see a woman walking towards her minivan with my child's infant carseat. "Wait!" I say to my mom, standing beside me. "I wasn't ready to sell that!" My mom replies. "Oh, Eleanor, I didn't know so I went ahead and sold it to that nice woman."

The woman with the carseat turns back towards me. She is one of the women with whom Husband acted out. She gives me a smug, devilish grin. Her eyes, piercing with evil. As she opens the door to her minivan, I see several children, one of whom looks identical to my child. She throws the carseat into her minivan, laughs, and drives away. I scream out at her, but she keeps driving away. With my carseat. With my child. I fall to the grass and sob uncontrollably.

My alarm goes off. Thank goodness. The nightmares are returning.

Last Night

I have a good night. I have a real conversation with Husband, and then we part ways to go to sleep. I take a sleeping pill. The nightmares have tormented me for years. Sometimes a sleeping pill helps, but sometimes it doesn't stop the torture.

I'm in a dark house. I see a bruise on my arm. I know where it's from, it's from the same place as the bruises that cover my legs and my back. I don't remember the beatings, but I am convinced that Husband has done this to me. He walks out of a dark corner, saying nothing. I try to scream to someone to save me from this monster, but I have no voice. I run out of the house and down the street, where I see my aunt. She's the only one who knows what I know. She knows where the bruises come from. Everyone else dismisses them and thinks I'm crazy. But she knows. I scream out to her, this time finding my voice. But Husband catches up to me, picks me up and carries me back to the dark house. I sob in the dark. More bruises appearing on my body.

My alarm goes off. I feel exhausted. Maybe it's time for another trip to the doctor.

So, How Was Your Day?

I'm toying around with an idea, and I'd love to hear others' opinions on it.

Husband and I have a difficult time connecting with each other. Surprise, surprise, right? But it's not just because of addiction. That's actually the only topic we can really have a genuine conversation about, other than conversations about our child (and thank the good Lord that we agree on parenting).

The rest of the stuff is hard. We will get excited about spending some quality time together, but then we don't really know what to do with ourselves. We have the "How was your day?" conversation, and then we talk about surface topics like the weather and our schedules. And then we're done. And I think it's as much of my problem with communication if not more my problem with communication than his. I clam up. I don't share anything. It's a problem we've both had since we've known each other, but these days, it's more of Husband asking me to communicate with him and me shutting down.

It's strange how that happens. I've been told in my professional life that I am an excellent communicator, very comfortable speaking in front of a crowd. But that's easy for me. I can talk for hours about my professional work. Because it isn't personal. It isn't a conversation about feelings. It isn't a conversation that involves vulnerability.

I decided to start reading a book on communication in marriages to help me understand how to communicate. And so far the book is great, but very difficult to absorb and even more difficult to practice. Usually I read when Husband reads his recovery stuff in the evenings, and then I go to bed without sharing anything with him.

So I'm wondering if maybe we should read a book together and talk about it as we read. I wonder if it wouldn't be so easy to shut down if I had some material in front of me to talk about with Husband. And even better if the material has to do with communication. But I've never done anything like this before. I don't know if Husband would be open to this, but based on his requests lately to have more time set aside for the two of us to communicate, he likely would think this is a great idea.

But I don't know. Anyone else read books together as a couple? I don't know why, but it sort of seems cheesy to me. Then again, most of personal communication to me seems cheesy because I'm not very talented in that area (like the formal dialogue we do in therapy, awkward!).

Any opinions?

Maybe I'm Powerless After All

As a follow-up to some of my thoughts earlier this week, I came to a realization.

Although I have admitted powerless over Husband's addiction, I have not admitted powerlessness over his choices in other areas. And, the root of the problem seems to center on money.

I am entirely too focused on Husband's financial situation. And I still enable him as well. I'm learning that I haven't set the appropriate boundaries. I am still clinging to the notion that I can control Husband's spending if I just get mad at him enough. And that statement is false. SO false. Nothing I say or do changes his ways. And his spending has increased as his sexual sobriety has increased. So I have fears that he is transferring one compulsive behavior to another. Regardless, I have to accept that I cannot control his money choices.

But, in accepting my powerlessness, I do need to set appropriate boundaries so that his choices do not interfere with my financial well-being or my child's well-being. I have enabled this for far too long by allowing him to pay what is much less than his fair share of household expenses so that he can chip away at his debt. But he has chosen to not chip away at his debt and instead has used the money for additional purchases. So it has to stop. Time for some healthy boundaries.

1. Husband makes a certain percentage of what I do. Therefore, he will need to contribute that percentage of money towards our joint household expenses, regardless of how much he owes in his name to other people.

2. I will not sign my name on any joint expenses, nor add my credit score to boost his ability to make purchases.

3. I will not ask him about his financial status.

The more I realize that many of my fears stem from my financially-chaotic upbringing, the more I realize how I have let Husband's choices keep me in the fear cycle. But today this will stop. I cannot focus on Husband and continue to move forward in my own recovery. I am wasting time worrying about Husband's choices when I could be using that time to pray and work on my own healing.

Confusion

Lately, I've wanted to write a lot about the character defects I see in Husband. I want to spew out lots of negative thoughts. I want to share details of his most shameful acts. I've written posts, kept them as drafts, posted them and then deleted them. Clearly, there is some indecisiveness at work here. Some days, I feel as though I am justified in criticizing Husband because that's just reality. There are things he does that drive me crazy. Other days, I feel as though I am focusing too much on things over which I cannot control when I zoom in on things I do not like about Husband. So I've been reflecting a bit on why.

Why do I want to criticize Husband so badly? Is it because of anger? Is it because of fear? A combination of anger and fear? Or, is it possibly because thinking about the bad things justifies the way I push him and everyone close to me away?

I'm coming to realize that this may have little to do with addiction and a lot to do with everything else. You see, Husband is currently in solid recovery. He regularly talks to his sponsor, works his steps, goes to meetings, reads literature, and works to repair the damage he's done to the family. He apologizes frequently, expresses his appreciation for me letting him live in the same house as us, and takes on most of the household duties.

I got what I wanted. Now what?

As it turns out, Husband's sobriety has not miraculously "fixed" our relationship. And I think that his recovery is actually bringing to light many of the issues we face as a couple that go much deeper. Like my need to escape anytime I feel that we are moving towards some greater level of intimacy.  Husband's lingering sense of entitlement, especially when it comes to material possessions. Both of us clinging to the notion that comfortably distant is the best way to be in a relationship.

Of course, Husband's past behavior has completely exacerbated some of our issues, but it's not as though the issues were not there prior D-Day.

I think that sometimes I want to focus on Husband's bad qualities as a way to justify not working on my part in the marriage. But I have good reasons to stay distant. I have been terribly hurt in the past. I have a reason to be wary of any kind of vulnerability in this relationship.

Ultimately, though, if I choose to continue to stay in this marriage, there are risks I will eventually need to take. Amends to be made. Intimacy to be restored.

I guess I'm just not sure I'm ready to move forward. Yet.

Running The Mad Out

I've been a runner since junior high. I started running with my mom to get healthier because both me and her were overweight. I continued running through high school, joining the cross country and track team. I was never fast, I always finished middle of the pack. But, I loved running. There was a time when I used it in an unhealthy way, just as I have used food in an unhealthy way, but for the most part, running has been my constant companion for stress relief through the years.

After high school, I started to train and run marathons with my mom. This was one of the only ways that we could connect in a healthy way at the time, and I cherished those long, exhausting runs with her. We continued to run races together until I got pregnant and running became too difficult. But I was determined to get back to my stress-reducing hobby after my child was born. And I did. It took me a while, and I was much slower than I was pre-baby, but I was back out running.

And then there came a time where addiction ruined running for me.

I trained really hard for a half-marathon, it was to be my first race after having my child. I put a lot of work into getting my body stronger, and although I was still carrying extra weight, I felt really great about how I was able to work myself back up to long-distance running. Husband was a little bit resentful while I was training. He didn't like that I got up early on Saturday mornings to go run because that meant that he couldn't sleep in and instead had to take care of Child. But when the race day came, my husband planned to come cheer me on with Child. He told me that he would be there early, with signs. Afterwards, we would walk to one of our favorite restaurants and celebrate.

I was feeling great the day of the race, and it went very smoothly, even though it was my worst time ever. I was so elated after the race. I felt strong, thankful, and happy. But I didn't see Husband, so I waited around near the finish line. Eventually, he showed up, flustered and angry. Child was with him, but he forgot the stroller and Child's bag, so he was tired from carrying Child to the finish line. We didn't have what we needed to stay in the area after the race and go to the restaurant, so instead we just went home. I was disappointed in Husband's lack of enthusiasm, but I also felt guilty because I wasn't really running to get praise from Husband. I was doing it for myself. So maybe it was prideful for me to expect Husband to make a big deal of it.

Fast forward a week, otherwise known as D-Day. As I sifted through years of deceit on the computer, I realized that Husband was late to the race because he had spent the morning feeding his addiction. He was angry and flustered because he didn't want to leave his addiction to come see his wife.

So I quit running. I couldn't run without having visions of who Husband was talking to and what he was saying while I was out running. It ruined all of the strength and emotional well-being I had gained training for that race. I didn't run for over a year.

When I kicked Husband out of the house a while back, I started running again. I decided that addiction was not going to ruin something that had brought me so much peace and serenity over the years. Addiction was NOT going to ruin my well-being and health. But I had SO much anger. So I would go and run until I felt like I got the "mad" out. I would run until I no longer felt angry. It was so empowering to gain my strength back, and I started to again love running the way I used to before D-Day.

My new house is in a location where I can run out my front door and go for miles on sidewalks and paved paths. I've gone for a run every day since we moved. I am going to be training for another race. I am going to replace my traumatic running memories with new ones. Healthy ones.

Am I Doing This Right?

I ask myself that question a lot. Am I doing boundaries right? Am I making the right decision when I say yes, when I say no? Am I staying strong, or do I still cave to others' desires more than I should? Am I letting God work in my life?

For so long, I lived in complete FEAR. I feared making mistakes, doing something wrong, or disappointing someone. I didn't trust in God's mercy and grace. But recovery has ripped away some of the fear that I held onto so tightly. Because that fear, that control, didn't actually prevent me from experiencing hurt, it only made it worse.

But I also have trouble knowing if I am making good decisions because my world as I knew it for many years was false. According to addict Husband, my gut was wrong. If I felt disconnected? It was just because Husband was tired. If I felt unappreciated? I was overreacting. If I felt taken advantage of? Husband would convince me that he was actually the one who was suffering.

My instincts have been warped by fear and addiction, but I am praying for clarity. For a renewed sense of trust in God that I will be cared for and given guidance always.

"All My Favorite People Are Broken"

I'm moving to a new community. This is not a new thing. It's been a long time coming. We knew even before D-Day that this is something that would probably happen eventually. I got the courage a while back to seek out a job that was more child-friendly, with more flexible hours, less stress. This job is also in a location that is much closer to my extended family. Although we've certainly had our ups and downs, the fact that I could be a single mother some day is very real should Husband stop recovery, and to be able to take a day trip to see family will be such a comfort if needed.

We moved to our current city shortly before D-Day, and I didn't really leave anyone behind when we moved. I never allowed myself to become close to anyone where we lived previously, and I didn't shed a single tear. I was sleepwalking through life, trying to hide my faults and project a perfect image.

This move is so different. So difficult. After D-Day and without family nearby, I was desperate for a community of support. And I found one. I reached out, allowed myself to be vulnerable, and developed the closest and most authentic friendships I've ever had in my life. So this move is bittersweet. There has been so much heartache in this city, but this is also the place where I started to heal. Where I started to be real. Where I started to be vulnerable. Some of my closest friends share my same struggles, while others have been a shoulder to cry on when I was overwhelmed. Others include Child's teachers, who have treated Child like their own and filled in on days when I was less than energetic. And yet other friends without children have welcomed Child to Saturday night gatherings openly and freely. Knowing that this is just part of my life separated from Husband.

Today I said good-bye to the first woman with whom I shared my secret. I don't know why I decided to share it with her, I didn't even know her that well. In fact, she is a co-worker, and I shared some of my deepest fears with her in her office. I didn't know exactly why I was telling her, but when she responded I knew. She disclosed that her marriage was also being ripped apart by sex addiction. We have been the closest of friends ever since. Sharing our struggles and our triumphs. Walking this journey together. She wrote me a beautiful letter, and in it she included her favorite song lyrics.

"All my favorite people are broken."

She went on to say that she is reminded through me of how there can be beauty in brokenness, and that brokenness often leads people to a life filled with more joy and peace. My friend has taught me that friendship means sharing the good and the bad. Letting go of the image of an ideal life. We are beautifully broken.

The Comment That Changed My Life

Husband was angry with me, once again. What was new, I thought. Same old, same old. He thought that I had spent too much time with my family on vacation (he chose not to go with us). At that point in my recovery, though, I had gained a tremendous amount of strength. I was learning what loving detachment meant, and I had developed a great social support group. I chose to leave the house with Child and go to the park. Husband could be mad, but I didn't have to be there with him while he raged.

My mom called while I was at the park. My mom and I have had a rocky relationship. After some harsh judgment towards me when I first disclosed to her that I was married to an addict, we worked out an agreement that she would not give me advice. Otherwise, I would have to limit my communication with her. She has a tendency to want to "fix" things that are not hers to fix, although her intentions are always good (like mother, like daughter). Here's what she said that day when I told her that I was at the park because Husband was mad at me again.

"Eleanor, I am not saying this to judge you in any way. I am genuinely asking. Doesn't this have to change at some point? Get better or get divorced? How long can you live like this and not have a breakdown? I'm worried about you and Child because Child needs at least one healthy parent."

There are many things my mom has said over the years that have made me very angry. But, let's be honest. She was totally spot on with this comment. That comment allowed me to reflect a bit on the hopelessness of our marriage at that point. It also allowed me to get the gut feeling I needed. I was strong enough. I was ready.

I met with a lawyer. Laid out my plan with her and gave her a ton of money. I wrote my letter to Husband. I consulted with my therapist. I came home from work that next week and sat Husband down for a talk. In short, I told him that he needed to move out and completely change his life, including recovery, 12 steps, therapy, financial responsibility, hold a steady job, and more. If he was not willing to agree to do everything I asked of him, I would submit divorce papers. If he agreed, I would give him six months to prove that he was giving 110% to changing his life. And if he did, I would consider marriage therapy and reconciling. I also let him know that I would be using the time to continue my own recovery.

And with that, Husband reluctantly (and not without trying to change my mind first) moved out. Sometimes it just takes one comment, one experience, to know what God wants me to hear.

Anger

Today, I'm feeling angry. Angry at addiction. I've read several stories lately of women who are living with and trying to cope with addicts not in recovery. And the addicts are angry, mean, spiteful, resentful, and all of the other characteristics signaling that addiction is rearing its ugly head. And although currently I am not on the receiving end of emotional abuse (because truly that's what we're often dealing with), the pain of the addict's piercing words and actions are still fresh.

I think I've been fearful of honestly writing about some of the most dark days for me because I am afraid that others will judge me for staying married to Husband. Why didn't I cut my losses and run away? I could have, I thought about it. Maybe I'm also afraid that it makes me look weak. Or maybe some will even judge me for not putting in more effort.

I feel that I am ready, though, to write about some of the dark days because first, it helps me process the trauma, and second, people need to know what it's really like. I am not a weak woman. WE are not weak women. But, for me at least, there was a look in Husband's eye when he was getting ready to be mean. A look that was so scary, so void of emotion, that it forced me to make a contingency plan should Husband get physical at any point (which he never did). No wonder I had trouble setting and enforcing boundaries. Anyone living in that kind of fear would find it difficult to stand up to someone that full of rage.

But the truth needs to come out. Out of my soul. Out of secrecy. My therapist had me keep a letter that Husband wrote to me a year ago when he was at his lowest, shortly before I kicked him out of our home. She wanted me to read it over and over to know that it was BULLSHIT. She wanted me to use it to help me understand how crazy addiction can make someone.

So here goes...

***

Eleanor,

I've been distant lately, and I know the exact moment when it started. On the way home from our trip, you mentioned something about how I owe you something because I cheated but that I haven't earned anything from you. This would imply that you expect restitution. You have alluded to it at other times too. If that's what you want...how can you get it other than being obsessive and controlling [minimizing and blaming]?

The way you decided to stop having sex with me was a very bad idea [blaming]. I was really rolling on getting my life together [lies, he was still acting out fully and not going to meetings or therapy]. You cut me down at a very high time for me [blaming]. What was the message supposed to be? That there's not doubt that I am going to be unfaithful? The thought that went through my head was why be sober if it's not going to do any damn good. I'll just be treated like a monster [blaming, trying to induce guilt]. I have a feeling that your therapist put you up to this, and if so, that makes strike two [trying to isolate me from those who were helping me].

You can be my best motivator to be sober, or you can be my addict's best motivator to act out [threats]. We both have problems, and to stop them, we have to work together [blame]. I'm done trying to have a relationship and hold it together. I'm ready to move on and get happy. I don't think that you are capable though. I hope that we can just put the past behind us [minimizing].

I don't think you understand how much I've been hurt by you [blame]. 

***

I used to be so critical of people who got divorced, because I thought that if they just tried harder, they could make it work. I used to also be critical of women who stayed in abusive relationships, because they should definitely just get the heck out. I will never judge someone's actions in relation to their marriage again, because they may secretly be getting emails like these.

Addiction is so damaging. I fully believe that recovery is possible and that people can change. But today I am angry for all of the women who, like me, are fighting an uphill battle and who may just be pissed off. I'm with you.

The Food Thing

I was digging through boxes in the back of my closet last week and found a picture of me from one of my lowest points. I was still dating the boy from high school. I was depressed, and I was desperate for control. In the picture, I was wearing a bikini, and I was just rail thin. I looked so fragile. I was fragile.

And it got me thinking. I hadn't dealt with The Food Thing in therapy, or in my life generally. When things in my world started to spin out of control in my teens, I used food as a control mechanism. I couldn't control how the boy treated me, or how alone I felt, or how I felt as though my parents did not like me. But I could control what I ate. I meticulously counted calories, striving for 1000 a day. I worked out for an hour each day. Sometimes twice a day. I remember a neighbor stopping me on my second run for the day once and expressing some concern over my weight loss. I remember my aunt pulling me aside and asking me if there was something wrong. I remember friends giving looks to each other when I tried on size 0 jeans at the mall...and found that they were too loose. I remember repeated trips to the doctor for my sleepiness. It was like everyone knew...except my parents. And I wanted my parents to see. I wanted them to know that I was hurting inside, but I didn't know how to come out and say it. They never did say anything, but by the grace of God, I found an amazing support group in college who taught me about how damaging unhealthy body issues can be. But that's not the beginning of The Food Thing. Or the end.

When I was little, my mom used food to soothe any sadness or anger we kids felt. You are crying? Let's get a donut! You are mad? Let's go for pizza! Before I knew it, I was overweight. Kids made fun of me, and I think my mom was embarrassed. She had lots of "talks" with me about eating too much. And she criticized her own body every time she looked in the mirror. I now know that my mother was criticized and judged by her own mother for her appearance all of her life. And she fought so hard against it. She still fights hard to maintain a better body image. I don't think that she ever intended to pass on her body image issues to me.

Fast forward to post-college and post-boy from the past, and I continued to maintain a pretty good body image. I made it a point to never diet, criticize myself for my looks, or put myself down for my physical appearance. But I did try to eat healthy and exercise.

When D-Day happened, I couldn't stomach food. I don't think I really ate a meal for a month after D-Day. I lost about 15 pounds and was monitored by a doctor for the rapid weight loss. But slowly, the weight came back. And then I started eating a little bit extra sometimes because it felt good. After all the hurt I had been through, I deserved some chocolate, right? And some pizza, and maybe a milkshake. And before I knew it, I found myself turning to food to stuff my emotions instead of choosing other tools in my self-care kit. I am now about 10 pounds heaver than I would like to be. It's not life-ending, and I do not have an addiction, but I see myself traveling down that road. That road of using food to fix my emotions. That road of self-loathing following a food binge. Those dark thoughts that were part of my spiral downward in the past.

Therapist helped me to see this week that I am not who I was back then. I have tools now. I have so much knowledge about emotions and addictions and physical health. I can use those tools to make better food choices while also not beating myself up over a candy bar every once in a while. She has helped me to see that I can decide that the self-loathing Food Thing stops here.

So far this week, I have had about 2 good days and 2 bad. But that's progress and that's OK. I don't want to be that girl from the picture. Because I am so much more than that.

In a Foreign Land

Warning: This post discusses sex. No graphic details here, but I do want to be sensitive to my fellow WoPAs, S-Anons, CoSAs, and everyone else who may be sensitive to the topic.

I'm finding myself in a foreign land. One I've never been in before. In this land, I am finding myself increasingly attracted to Husband. Wanting to be physically intimate with him. Last week, while exploring this new land, I initiated sex. For the first time, like, ever. We completed our therapy-suggested abstinence period a long time ago, and I am feeling much stronger and healthier when it comes to my needs and wants.

We had the most wonderfully intimate moment. But afterwards, Husband was fearful and uncertain. Something I have never seen post-love-making. In the past, as is typical of an SA, he wanted sex all the time and he didn't care about the circumstances. But last week, he was fearful. So we decided to discuss this in our first real marriage therapy session this weekend. He was fearful because in the past, I would have sex with him and then get angry and push him away. Guilty as charged. I did that all the time, but I didn't really realize it until he said it. Lightbulb moment! He suggested that we wait to resume physical intimacy until a month after we move back in together because he thinks that he needs more time to practice emotional intimacy (something he's been working on a lot, and something I need work on too!) without sex being part of the picture. MY SA WANTS TO ABSTAIN FROM SEX TO WORK ON EMOTIONAL INTIMACY. I feel like that needs to be in caps because I'm still shocked at its occurrence.

I have prayed, begged, pleaded with God for Husband to heal. I have imagined moments like these, daydreamed that some day Husband would want to talk about things like emotional intimacy, that he would put some actual cognitive thought into sexual intimacy. When I started this blog, I was 99% sure this would be a story of my journey from separation to divorce from a sex addict. In fact, I actually went so far as to file divorce, I was so sure. Things were so bad. So much denial, criticism, deception. So much so that I had to just let go of the marriage. I let go of our dreams together, let go of the hope. I had to decide to focus solely on my own healing and let life happen for Husband.

I believe that I am witnessing a miracle in my life. A miracle of God's grace and redemption. A miracle of two people not only recovering, but turning into better people. More capable of love. Because it's not just about Husband's recovery. It's about mine too. It's about my ability to give and receive love. My ability to set healthy boundaries and respect myself. My ability to find joy and peace.

And I do not take this for granted. Not one day. I can still hardly believe this miracle. My wish is that this post is not discouraging to those who are still in that ugly place of having a husband not in recovery. That exhausting place of feeling like there is no way out of this mess. Because I know that place. I know it really well. Rather, my wish is that this post gives hope to those in the ugly place that things can get better. Regardless of recovery or divorce, I feel like I now have some tangible proof that things get better with God's grace and mercy and with the 12 steps, however you may choose to work them.

This new land is more beautiful than I ever imagined. It's still full of lots of thorny trees and turbulent waters, but it's right where I'm meant to be.

The Elephant in the Room

I grew up in a Catholic community. Most families had many children. It's just what Catholics do, we welcome children as part of our marriage covenant. I think that this is a beautiful thing to see so many wonderfully loving, large families. I have many siblings myself, and they are certainly my best friends now that we are all adults.

I only have one child, a child who is well past the age where most good Catholic families would have had at least one more child by now. And people are not afraid to ask me why I do not have more than one child. "Hey, isn't it time you two give Child a sibling?" "Well, I'm sure you'll expand your family soon." "I'm just waiting for the call from you to tell me you are expecting again. I'm sure your parents want more grandchildren." I usually end up saying something along the lines of, well you just never know...or some other vague response.

Because the truth is painful. Almost too painful for me to even write about here. The truth is that I always wanted a big family. I want more children. The truth that I do not have more children is especially painful when I open Child's closet and see all of the baby things I still have saved for another child. I think that I am a very good mother. And that I would be a good mother to more children. It hurts that I have not given Child a sibling.

But there are many reasons why I have a strong gut feeling that I am not meant to have more children, at least at this point. The first reason is obvious. Husband is an addict, and I have only had sex with Husband a handful of times in the last two years, so practically speaking, it's not like there's been a lot of opportunity to get pregnant. The next reason is that I had a scary labor and delivery, one that ended in an emergency c-section and allergic reactions and an infant with a high fever and incessant crying. There is some real physical risk to me having another child. And then there is the fact that I am a working mother. I have no other choice. Until recently, Husband has not been able to hold a steady job. I had no choice but to be a working mother if I wanted Child to have food and shelter. And I do everything I can to ensure that we have as much quality time as we can when I'm not at work. But oh, the working mother guilt. I don't know how many nights I have cried myself to sleep over this guilt. Is Child really getting what Child needs from me? Does Child feel neglected? Am I ruining Child by being a working mother? And then there's the risk of addiction in our genes. I would love to adopt, but is anyone going to let an addict and his working wife adopt a child?

My life is so different than I ever imagined it would be. I just started working Step 3 in S-Anon, the step where I fully turn my will and life over to the care of God. But this one will be a hard one to hand over. What if I hand over my life to God and God has determined that I will never have another child? Should I just be grateful for the one I was blessed with already? In my opinion, I lucked out with the most awesome kid on the planet, so I should just be thankful. But what if I let go and God decides that we will be blessed with more children? Can I be as good of a parent to a second child, a third child? Can I really do this all considering all the reasons I just gave for why we do not have a second child? Would that child really be given what he or she needs from us?

I'm guessing that this step will be an incredible challenge for a control freak like me. But I'm so tired of carrying the swirling thoughts (see above!) about things over which I do not have control. It is time to let go.

Oh Ya, It's Our Wedding Anniversary

Today, I remembered that our anniversary is coming up, which brings up a whole slew of conflicting emotions. Last year, we were at the worst point in our relationship. We were not even on speaking terms. I honestly feared that Husband would take Child and run away because he was that angry with me for withholding sex. My very nice parents offered to babysit and book me a night at a nice hotel so that I could do something fun that day. This was one of the kindest things they have ever done for me. So, I bought bubble bath, nail polish, ordered Chinese food for dinner, and headed off to a hotel by myself. I ate dinner, took a bath, painted my nails, and fell asleep easily thanks to my prescription sleeping pills that, at the time, were necessary. I didn't see or talk to my husband on my anniversary.

In some ways, I am feeling better about this year. I am in a much better place. Husband is in a much better place. But we are separated. And we have a big mountain to climb in terms of repairing our relationship. And, when I think about our wedding day, I feel like a fool. I picture him thinking...I can't believe I got away with this. She's going to marry me, and I lie to her constantly. I must be so good at keeping secrets. She's so gullible. I don't actually know what he was thinking on our wedding day. Maybe he was thinking that this is a new day, he will be faithful from now on, or something along those lines. Regardless, I picture myself as a fool on that day.

So, I don't know what to do with our anniversary. I really don't want to celebrate it. But, we are still married. And, maybe we need to celebrate that we made it this long without getting a divorce! But it's not like we are celebrating years of wedded bliss.

How do you feel about your anniversary? Do you celebrate it?

Triggers, Revisited

When Husband entered real recovery, he made the decision to no longer drink alcohol. It was a trigger for him. He said that he had never met an SA in recovery who was able to drink occasionally without then turning into an alcoholic. I never worried that he had a drinking problem. We would have a glass of wine or beer every now and then, but neither of us were regular drinkers. Nonetheless, alcoholism runs in both of our families, so it was a very good decision for a person who is already fighting one addiction. I was very proud of him for making that decision to prevent having to fight a second addiction.

While visiting with in-laws and family this weekend, Husband mentioned to his family that he doesn't drink alcohol anymore. Unfortunately, family didn't react with support. Here's some of what we heard over the course of the weekend. "Why in the world would you give up beer?" "My wife won't have sex with me, and you won't drink with me. Everyone around me is becoming lame." "What is wrong with you?"

Ugh. That's the "change back" phenomenon in full force.

My Dirty Little Secret

Ever since I've known Husband, I have had an unhealthy way of thinking about our relationship. I only became aware of this thought pattern after I found out that he was an addict.

Here it is...my dirty little secret.

Me > Husband

There, I said it. Truly, I am embarrassed to admit that the above equation describes some of the ways in which I thought about our relationship. I was always the one saying the "right" things, doing the "right" things, being the exact person society wanted me to be. I sought external accomplishments, and I desperately sought praise and approval from others. Husband, on the other hand, always marched to the beat of his own drum. Sometimes he didn't fit in socially, and he didn't impress with his achievements. I was the overfunctioner, he the underfunctioner.

And I believed that I was doing it right, and he was doing it wrong. I was self-righteous, prideful, and cold. I thought I was better than my husband. And why? Because I wore the right clothes? I had the right career? I did what everyone expected of me?

The truth is that despite all of his troubles, Husband has always generally been a bit nicer than me. A little less cold, more sensitive, and more willing to do good deeds for others. But, for so long, I stood on my self-serving pedestal, almost apologizing to others for my husband and his non-conformity. I feel sad that I lived that way. I feel sad for how it must have made Husband feel. And, I still struggle with it. I fail a lot, and I ask for forgiveness a lot.

This weekend at church the homily was about sin. That sin is sin. We all sin. In God's eyes, no one is loved more or less. I am trying to be a more loving and less judgmental person. Because I sin and Husband sins, and thankfully we both have the opportunity to feel God's grace and to receive second chances.

"Triggers" (otherwise known as the in-laws)

My family knows about Husband's addiction, at least in general terms. I was so desperately unstable in the days following D-Day that my dad had to make the trip to where I live (I don't live close to family) to make some decisions for me and take care of Child. And he needed to know my situation to some extent to help me.

Husband's family does not know about his addiction. I don't know whether this is good or bad, but the family is so enmeshed generally, that my guess is that them knowing would be bad. They know that we are separated and that Husband goes to counseling. But other than that, they are in the dark.

So what happens when they visit is that I feel triggered. Unhealthy family patterns. Enmeshment. Intrusiveness into our lives.

And they visit. A lot. Too much, maybe.

They decided on an impromptu trip today. I don't have the guts to set appropriate boundaries with them. So they are sitting in my living room right now while I type. Processing the triggers. Thinking about the boundaries that need to be set. Thinking about the glass of wine I will drink at dinner with them, and the chocolate I will eat for dessert.

Progress, not perfection.