Contact Wounds

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

A Letter to my Ex-Husband

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

Dear Ex-Husband,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sincerely, Eleanor

Watching The Minutes

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

No problem.

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

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

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

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

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

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

From The Mouth Of My Babe

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

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

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

Breathing New Life

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

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

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

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

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

Creative Pain

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

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

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

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

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

The Invisible Wife, Part Three

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

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

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

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

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

The Invisible Wife, Part Two

The Invisible Wife decides to isolate from the recovering addict. Feeling betrayed and abandoned, she spends her time alone, trying to figure out exactly where she went so very wrong. How did she get to this point of hopelessness and despair? She once had such strength, such determination, she thinks. There was a time when there was no problem she thought so big that she could not solve it by will power and careful planning.

But here she finds herself feeling alone and empty. No pulling herself up by the bootstraps now. The Invisible Woman is at a crossroads. She has exhausted herself completely. Fixing, guiding, leading, analyzing. Objectifying her marriage.

Where does The Invisible Woman turn at such a crossroads?

The Invisible Wife

The sick addict finally turns his life around after leaving a path of destruction in his wake. He is praised for his hard work and welcomed with open arms by his family. He feels satisfaction in helping those who are still held captive by addiction and devotes his time to answering late night phone calls and early morning texts.

And his wife, who at times remains bleeding on the ground from the destruction, starts to wonder. Why can't she welcome him with open arms? Embrace his newfound sobriety? Doesn't she know the story of the prodigal son or the lost sheep?

Right or wrong, the wife feels a bit ignored. Were it not for her sacrifice, suffering, and compassion, she thinks, the addict would for sure be bankrupt, without a family or home, and would possibly not even be alive.

But was she really involved in all of this? Is it even reasonable to expect the family of the addict to acknowledge her? A Higher Power and the addict are surely to be respected for this miracle of recovery, maybe the role of the wife is really just a role of observer.

She finds herself lying in bed alone at night, wondering if she might be The Invisible Wife.

Mourning My False Self

My false self has been nurtured well over the years. It's the parts of me I let people see. Fr. Richard Rohr (my absolute favorite spiritual leader/writer) says that this protection and building of the false self is part of the first half of life, the ascension.

I totally rocked that part of life. I could mold my behavior, my image, even my appearance, to be what other people desired from me. The goal for me, ultimately, was approval and praise.

The problem, according to Fr. Rohr, comes when one works so hard to cultivate the false self that she ignores and denies her shadow self. The shadow is human weakness, character defects according to 12-step.

And so it appears that living through D-Day has caused my false self to start disintegrating. Those things I worked so hard to protect, like the image of the perfect family, became impossible to protect. I started to realize that living my life to get praise from others was miserable.

Fr. Rohr describes the phase I find myself in right now as the descent, which is ultimately just plain old reality. I'm finding myself in situation after situation where my weaknesses are being made clear. I like to be right all the time, I'm stubborn, I have a serious emotional eating problem, and I'm terrified of intimacy.

The funny thing about this awareness of my weaknesses is that I'm overall happier now than I've ever been. Humiliated, for sure, but feeling more authentic.

I Receive This

My therapist introduced an amazing concept to me.

I can choose whether or not to accept another person's opinion of me. I have no control over what another person chooses to say to me, but I can choose whether or not to receive those words. She said that sometimes when a person gives her a compliment, she will even say out loud to the person, "I receive that".

And it just so happens to work the other way around. I can also choose not to receive words.

Someone close to me recently told me that I really need to teach my son to toughen up. At first, I started to internalize the comment, feeling ashamed of my parenting skills. But the more I thought about it, the more I realized that I intentionally refrain from giving my son the message that he needs to toughen up. I for sure encourage hard work and communication skills, but I choose not to stifle his naturally sensitive and caring nature. He's just fine the way he is, and so I chose not to receive that criticism. She was free to make the comment, but I'm also free to choose to reject it. It really helped me to stop the spiral of shameful thinking.

In my mind, I replaced the criticism with an affirmation. I am a good mom!

A Life Motto

"Wherever you are, be all there." ~Jim Elliot

So much wisdom in so few words. More thoughts to come...

Blogland

I blog for mostly selfish reasons. I like feeling a connection to people who understand my pain, and I like having an outlet that is disconnected from my immediate social and family circle. I blog to help myself, and I don't know that I do a whole lot of helping others with this space. There are so many wonderful writers who do the helping much better than me. I'm OK with that because I just really don't have any advice. I'm still in it. In the muck and the confusion and the hurt. I don't have answers, just experiences. My recovery moves at a snail's pace.

For so long, this blog has been exactly what I needed. It has provided with me an amazing sense of peace in some very dark times. I've been able to work through difficult memories and receive support when I needed it the most.

But like everything in life, things change. And I'm not sure this blog is helping me anymore. When I started this blog, I thought that I would be writing the story of a woman who divorced a sex addict because he wouldn't seek help. But as it turns out, I am now in the situation where I am still married, and the man I am married to is purposefully and diligently changing his life for the better. Along with him, I am also changing my life for the better.

Lately, I've felt like blogging has been a way for me to continue to isolate myself from real connection. There are a lot of things I write here that I don't tell Husband. I still don't feel safe in being vulnerable with him, but I started working with a new therapist, and I joined a women's trauma support group. I am making connections in my new city. But perhaps the most important reason to not isolate myself is that husband is trying so hard to be a good husband. I don't know if it will ever be enough. But I feel the urge to engage a bit in my real-life marriage and take a break from thinking through it on my blog.

So I might take a break here. I'll probably come back. I might even come back soon. I don't want to obligate myself to anything. I like to avoid that now as much as possible.

So for now, I'm going to go live a bit. I'll let you know how it goes.

Revenge Might Be a Little Sweet

Our history as a couple has involved a lot of Husband screwing up responsibilities and a lot of me being angry.

This morning, though, I screwed up responsibilities. I was sitting with Child in my lap, slowly waking up. I decided to check my planner for the day, since I have some serious memory problems. And to my surprise, I realized that I had a meeting in about 20 minutes. So I rushed into the shower, told Husband that he needed to take Child to school, and left Husband to finish getting Child ready. Husband ended up late to work because of my memory lapse.

And, moment of honesty. I didn't feel bad about my screw up. I didn't feel bad that I made Husband late for work. I had a lot of revenge thoughts in my mind. "Now he knows what this feels like. Serves him right after screwing up so much in the past. He deserves to know how this feels." I was a little bit pleased with myself at my mistake. Revenge was feeling pretty dang sweet.

But then, I got home from work. And Husband expressed some hurt feelings over the way I handled my screw up. Because I may or may not have joked (also known as a hidden criticism) as I was walking out the door about how Well, now you know what my life feels like everyday. Haha. 

Seeing his hurt feelings made revenge no longer feel so sweet. I got caught up in my self-righteousness, and I purposely said something knowing that it would hurt where my husband is most vulnerable.

I had to set some new boundaries earlier this week about finances that will protect me and Child better, and I think I got a little carried away with my problem of feeling as though I am inherently "better" than Husband.

I apologized, he said really nice things, and all is well tonight. And I feel a little more humble.

A Year After The Divorce Papers

February 2013

The lawyer called and said she had all the paperwork filed. I called my friend, and she agreed to watch our child so that I could deliver the news. He knew something was up. I had talked divorce many times before, it seemed like the only way to escape the pain. The pain burned my broken heart, and the newfound freedom from separation led me to believe that a divorce would be an instant healer. Separating was supposed to be a time for me to get help and for him to get help, but I just wanted it to be done. For me, the pain was like searing flames, burning my energy, my hope, my goodness. I wanted to give him my burns. See him suffer in the heat, and feel the fire of my pain. I wanted nothing more than for him to burn, alone.

But as I sat and waited for him to arrive, the desire to see him suffer and burn started to fade. Wait, don't fade! Keep the fire alive so that I can carry through with this! I'm fading! Just when I'm about to give the pain back to him, I'm fading...

By the time he arrived, I was a heaping mess in my room, well on my way to delirium from the cocktails I had consumed to try to salvage my fire. I blurted it all out. "I hate you. I don't want to be married to you. I want nothing more than to see you suffer for the pain you have caused. I want to never see you again and for you to live alone for the rest of your life, spending your days wishing you hadn't done these horrible things to ruin our family."

"But I can't do it. I'm so weak. I don't know why I can't go through with it. I don't have any backbone. Any self-respecting woman would have left you long ago. I hate you, and I hate myself for not being strong enough to leave you."

Husband said that he was so sorry. He is working as hard as he can to change his life. He is going to be the husband I deserve. He wishes he could take it all back. He hates himself for what he's done. I never deserved it.

And I thought bullshit and told him to get out of my house. I poured more cocktails and passed out on my bedroom floor.

February 2014

I remember the pain so well, a year ago today. I see my brokenness on that day from a new perspective. I can look back and see the emptiness that filled me. The longing for a relationship with God. The longing to feel loved by someone, anyone. The desperation in my voice as I spewed hateful words towards my husband and myself.

And I am so glad that I am not in the same place I was a year ago.

Filling The Void

I stopped at the grocery store on the way to pick up Child and bought three candy bars. And then I ate them in the car. Last week, I stopped on the way to work and picked up donuts. And then I ate them in the car. I started a bath last week and relaxed with a warm bath and chocolate.

Why? Why? Why?

My eating habits are directly and predictably related to my moods. I still have a really, really hard time recognizing two emotions. Sad, I've got that one down. Angry and lonely? Not so much.

I try to give it over to God. Here, God, take my emotional eating. I don't want it anymore. It never helps me. It only makes things worse. I get so convinced in my prayers that this is it. I know that I use food to fill the void. I feel a deep pit of lonely that I fill with food. I feel a deep rage that gets stuffed down with food. I know that I do this.

But each time, I take it back. I give over my emotional eating and then I take it back. Because I just need some chocolate. You know, to calm down, to ease the pain.

I miss my friends from where I used to live. I've had a hard time making new friends in my new city. I want mom-friends, but all of the mom groups at church and otherwise are typically only for moms who do not work outside the home and can meet at 10:00 AM on a weekday. I need working mom friends, like I had where I lived previously. Who like to set up play dates at 6:00 PM on weeknights. So I'm lonely, but the effort that would be required to get unlonely seems daunting.

I'm angry. So angry. Every two weeks, despite my very best intentions of giving over finances to God and setting the very best boundaries I can, I get angry. Because my husband overdrafts his account and gets non-sufficient funds notices. It does not affect me directly because of my boundaries. But it does mean that Husband doesn't contribute his fair share to our household finances. But setting yet another boundary is so much work.

No wonder I like to read books for addict. I'm pretty sure you could replace food with porn and that story above would read like a sex addict. I'm justifying my behavior by how I've been wronged. And I have been wronged, but food is not the answer. And I know that. But I continue the behavior.

I think I could learn a thing or two from a recovering addict.

Am I Real?

I wrote a guest post on my cousin's blog. She was interested in having me write a post, sort of a "day in the life" post. If anyone is reading this right now, you are probably chuckling. Because, let's be honest, jaws would drop if I wrote under my real name about what life was really like for me on a daily basis.

We'll let's see...usually my husband isn't at home in the evenings because he's a 12-step meetings. There's a whole lot of talk about sex and recovery and lying and betrayal and sponsees and serenity prayers. Sometimes I get freaked out because I have flashbacks of when he had sex with other people, but then I remember that this wasn't about my worth as a wife. There's awkward therapy dialogue and talk of our Higher Power and LOTS of new ways of interacting with our son to bust through the feelings of shame and worthlessness we brought into our marriage. We want our son to know his worth in this world, to know that it's OK to fail, and to know that unconditional love comes from a loving and merciful God.

Nope, I didn't write any of that. I talked about how before I had my son, I kind of thought I knew everything there was to know about parenting because of my career. And then, after I had my son, I realized that I really didn't know much at all. It was a rather lighthearted post, intended to make fun of myself a little and hopefully let other mothers know that we're all just flying by the seat of our pants here, even the most "trained" person is still going to be flustered as a parent sometimes.

People seemed to like the post. Someone commented that she loved how I was keeping it real. And I'm glad that people liked it. But to me, it felt pretty far from keeping it real. What people don't know is that the only reason that I was able to write a post like that where I admitted that I too struggle as a parent is because I've spent the last two plus years in therapy, I've been treated for depression and anxiety, and I understand now that I receive unconditional love from my Higher Power. But I left all those parts out of my lighthearted post and so to me, it felt a bit fake even though everything I wrote was true.

I'm glad that I can be really real all the way here, on my anonymous blog. Sometimes I just want to shout my real story from the rooftops. Because to me it's a miracle that I could be happier now than I was before I found out that my husband was an adulterous liar. But it's true. I am happier and healthier, and I know for sure that God is working through me. I have come to believe over the last year or so that I do have a loving Higher Power who shows unconditional love and mercy to me even in my brokenness.

Someday, I know that I will share my real story in a more public way. I feel it. I think that when the time is right, I will know.

I'm Different

I attended a 12-step conference last weekend. It was so powerful, and I learned so many new things. In order to reflect on what I've learned, I'm going to write it here in a few posts. See here and here for other posts about the conference.

One of the many blessings of being at the SANON conference last week was that I got to reconnect with many of the wonderful women who helped me survive during the months after D-Day. There were many hugs, long conversations, and plenty of tears.

Toward the end of the second night, when my emotions were raw and my brain was tired, I noticed my first sponsor sitting at a table nearby. And as I thought about our relationship, I became very emotional. It was in a conversation with her over a year ago that I realized that my situation was unacceptable. The words she used and the kindness she showed helped me to realize that I was worth more than how I was being treated by my husband. It was a changing moment for me, to realize that I had the power to stand up against unacceptable behavior and that it was OK for me to express my needs. To say what I mean, and mean what I say. To be firm in my convictions even if I upset Husband.

I knew when I saw her that I needed to thank her. I needed to let her know that her words and her kindness had a profound impact on my life. So after some tears and hugs and many thank yous from me, she said, simply "Eleanor, you look great."

I do look great. And I don't mean physically attractive. I'm sure she didn't mean physically attractive. She meant that I look strong. Standing by my choices and defending my right to live a healthy life. I have by no means conquered all of my demons, far from it. And I absolutely still have too many days where I waste time ruminating about the past and about things over which I have no control.

But I'm different than I was two years ago.

I Don't Have Control

I just returned from a 12-step conference. It was so powerful, and I learned so many new things. In order to reflect on what I've learned, I'm going to write it here in a few posts. Also see this post.

I mean, of course I don't have control, right? That's like, recovery 101. I can't control the addict. I didn't cause it, I can't control it, and I can't cure it. But I continue to be amazed at the more subtle ways I try to remain in control.

I realized this weekend that forgiveness for me is connected to control. I haven't written much about forgiveness on my blog, and the reason is simply that I hadn't done it. I hadn't forgiven my husband for his infidelity. And I didn't really know why until this weekend. Sure I had heard that forgiveness is healing for the person who was betrayed, forgiveness is really about not letting the past define you, forgiving doesn't mean you have to condone the behavior, and all the other phrases we throw around about forgiveness.

But I believed that if I forgave Husband, he would be tempted to act out again. And for me, there were many things wrong with that thought process.

First, I have absolutely no control over whether or not Husband is unfaithful again. Absolutely no control. And I was stopping myself from forgiving, something that was likely to bring me a lot of freedom from bitterness, because I thought it would make him act out. Second, although this was more of an unconscious rather than a conscious thought, I felt safe in my unforgiving state. I thought that I had some level of power over Husband by not forgiving. Like he would continue to "owe" me.

What really got me thinking about this was actually a comment that had to do with sexual intimacy. Someone asked, "How do I manage the fear I have that if I am sexual with Husband, it will trigger him to act out?" And another person responded simply, "Stop caring. His triggers are not yours to manage."

Somehow, that statement is what clicked for me. I can forgive my husband because I feel forgiveness in my heart. I have absolutely no control over what he does as a consequence of that forgiveness. So on Sunday, I formally forgave my husband. And for me, that means that I will no longer live in the past. I will not continually punish him for his past behavior. I will move forward. It doesn't mean that I condone what he did, that I will forget it, that I will let my boundaries go, or even that our relationship can be restored. It also doesn't necessarily mean that Husband has earned my forgiveness.

It simply means that I choose not to live in bitterness and resentment. I choose joy.

Trusting One Day At A Time

I just returned from a 12-step conference. It was so powerful, and I learned so many new things. In order to reflect on what I've learned, I'm going to write it here in a few posts.

Trust: The firm belief in the reliability, truth, ability, or strength of someone or something.

How in the world could I ever trust Husband again?

I've thought about this over and over the last two-and-a-half years. He destroyed that trust so many times and continued to lie to my face even when he knew our marriage was hanging by a thread. It is one of the many confusing reasons I stay in a period of stuckness. My stuckness is a feeling that I might want to move forward in the marriage, coupled with an intense fear of being duped again. Sure he's doing all of the recovery things right now, but how do I know he'll continue doing them and not sink back into insanity?

The actions and words of Husband are consistent with someone who is working a strong recovery program. In fact, he is getting his 9-month chip today. But trusting him? That's a big scary thing that I just don't want to do. It's really hard to think about rebuilding a marriage if there is no trust. I thought that this was one of the pillars of a marriage commitment. And I still wholeheartedly believe trust must exist at some level for a marriage to rebuild after betrayal.

This weekend, I may have found an understanding of trust that I can handle. And here it is.

Someone said to me that you only have to trust one day at a time. Or even one moment at a time. Did you notice that the above definition of trust doesn't say anything about trusting for any certain time period? I can trust that my husband is not acting out when he is with me. OK, that works. I can trust him on a day when I know his whereabouts and his actions are consistent with his words. But I have the freedom to continually make that choice. And it doesn't always have to be that I trust him. I may be uncertain about something and decide to not trust him that day. On that day, I can do self-care and be extra conscious of my surroundings. But the next day could be different. And maybe the number of trust days will start to outweigh the non-trust days, but maybe they won't, and that will be important information for me to have either way.

Isn't that such a freeing idea? Maybe others already think about trust this way. But I did not. I thought that if I made a decision to trust him, I had to fully trust him all the days forever and ever. What a daunting and unreasonable expectation if I am trying to live one day at a time and in the present! If I choose to stay in my marriage one day at a time, why can trust not be the same way? It frees me from the overwhelming thoughts about what will happen tomorrow. And the next day. And in 20 years. Much like the addict can work a program one day at a time, I can choose trust one day at a time. And the freedom in knowing that I have choices to make each day is just one of the precious gifts I received this weekend.