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?