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