Common Goals and Magic Moments

Over the past 6 weeks Huband and I have experienced a few magic moments.

They've come out of the blue, the same crappy feeling the day before and the day after.
The same fights.
The same concerns.
The same worries and fears and hurts.

Then suddenly, we have a magic moment.
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The first was on a Sunday. We were wrestling (who were being just as rotten as they know how) during church and I returned from the hallways with the whiny-tired-hangry 2-year-old plopping on the pew between us. My 4-year-old brrrrmmmm'd his car right up the little ones' toes and the howling started fresh. As I tried to calm the screamer, Husband caught my eye, smiled and distracted the brrrrrm-er.

There we were, living our regular mess of a life. Nothing was easy or fixed or safe, but it felt that way. We smiled at each other and held hands through the rest of church and that easy feeling of togetherness continued through the day.

This was the first time I felt like myself in longer than I care to admit. Everything was just fun and easy and stress-free. It. Was. Magic.
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The 2nd happened in a similar circumstance. As one child started barfing in the night I buckled down getting emotionally ready for a sleepless night of comforting and cleaning on my own.

But then Husband got himself out of bed to help. He started laundry while I soothed The Barfer, and when the 2nd one lost it, Husband helped with that too. We were up most of the night, running barf bowls back and forth trying to keep the laundry progressing. We comforted and cringed together. Again he caught my eye and we felt the magic.
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So I asked my Shrink why.

I didn't wake up that morning and decide to be a better wife or to make special effort or to "increase intimate interactions". I didn't even decide to be especially kind or forgiving to him that day. It just happened.

Honestly I think it was a gift from God. I've spend much of the past 6 weeks wondering whether there is anything worth fighting for between us. Or if I'm foolishly holding on for something that will ultimately leave both of us disappointed.

After a conversation with Shrink that offered me almost zero answers, I think I finally get what he was saying. Those moments were about common goals. Something we seriously lack otherwise.

He suggests that setting goals together matters. And is in fact essential to success as a couple.

This idea has been rolling around in my brain for a few weeks, but I've been hesitant to even discuss it with Husband because it requires way too much vulnerability for me.

I don't trust him to be careful or considerate of my ideas of what we'd like.
I don't trust him to come up with good ideas of his own. (Because "more sex" is not a worthy goal in my mind.)
I don't trust him to work toward our common goals with me.
I don't trust him to stop letting me down.

But that's going to have to change. I'm going to have a(nother) hard conversation and see where we stand. Perhaps we are working for more of the same things than I think.

Like:

• raising happy healthy children
• being financially stable
• enjoying each other and having a strong relationship
• living in a world where we spend more money on groceries than therapy

So I'm curious, what are your common goals? With your husband? Your kid? Your family? Do you have them? Are the written or just understood? Have you done this?

Feeling It

I wrote a guest post for the good people at Lehi Lifestar.

Come join me over there, because the truth is, we're all feeling it, aren't we?

I Used to be Known for Games

Husband and I liked to play a lot of board games. Card games. Dice games. Strategy or speed. It didn't really matter, we loved them all.

We'd move into a new neighborhood, find the people who wanted to play like us and we'd make fast friends. Then those friends would say "oooh you should meet the Smiths! They love to play games too!" and we'd connect with the Smith's and everyone would have a good day.

We don't play games as much these days, and though we both miss it, I'm sure it will be some time before we get into that again.

These days when someone says "there's someone I want you to meet" or an old friend I haven't talked to for a while wants to know when we can get together "to talk" I know what's coming.

My mom knows someone who is married to a porn addict and they think they're the only ones.
My friend's son is headed down that path and she wants my perspective.
My dad's students can't seem to get married because the men are all addicted and the women want to marry in the temple.
My old college roommate is suddenly wants to hang out. 

People used to introduce me to other people for fun things, but I swear I haven't made a new friend who wasn't a porn friend in at least 2 years.

Fortunately for me, porn friends are my favorite ones. Yes you.

But every now and then I'm sad that the only reason a person would want to hang out with me is because I get it. What about fun me? Will she ever be back?

Insert Proper Response Here

Last night I threw a major fit about something that looked stupid but was very real to me.

"I found a piece of furniture that I want and it's free" I told him.
"I think this is a really bad time to get more stuff." he responded "aren't we supposed to be getting RID of stuff?"
Rewind. We're moving. Our landlord didn't give us much notice because he's sortof a jerk and we have until the end of the month (that's right, thanksgiving weekend) to find a place, pack up and move.
"It's FREE." Sometimes I don't listen to what he's saying because I already think I know what his objection will be. (money. or sex - though sex doesn't apply here.)
"But we have to put it in the moving truck which will already be full of all our crap. And that was BEFORE you bought a piano - now there's no way it will fit. I don't want to move MORE stuff."


I entered my familiar tirade about how I'm on my own and I can't count on him and blah blah blah.

The insults and personal attacks shot out of my mouth like bullets.

"It's not a big deal, I will pick it up, I will stick it in the garage until moving day, I will ask our home teachers to personally put it on the truck when we move so you don't have to do an ounce of work" I started....then picked up steam  "because that's exactly how you want to live your life! NOT doing ANYthing. EVER! Which leaves me to be responsible for everything" I accused.
"If I want something done why do I always have to be the one to make it happen?"
"Why can't you just be happy for the work I do!"
"You're selfish and lazy!!!"
"Why can't you accept it when good things come into our life?" I threw in for good measure.

When I was done, Husband said "I don't really want to do this pattern, can we just talk about it instead?"

And I told him no. I was totally unwilling to discuss it as long as he was being a jackass.

I am entitled to my feelings. I'm allowed to be triggered. I have earned well the feeling of being abandoned and alone and solely responsible for making good happen in our lives.
 I have learned that when I'm mad and have plenty of ammunition I don't HAVE to pretend to be calm and sane and have a reasonable conversation. I don't have to bite my tongue so hard it bleeds.
I can take time and space to calm down on my own, in another place where I can do whatever I have to do. I'm allowed to feel how I feel without deciding if it's reasonable or not.

But I realize today exactly what They all meant when They said "just work on you because you can't control him". I literally smacked myself in the forehead out of anger when I attended 12 step meetings and women further along in this process told me "you didn't cause it, it isn't your fault and all you can do is come to these meetings to work on yourself."

Because if it isn't my fault why am I the one sitting in a meeting every week? Why do I have to work on me when he's the one ruining our lives? Why isn't HE doing anything?

This is why: this experience has given me a stockpile of heavy ammunition - negative and out of control feelings, thoughts and beliefs - about both of us. The little things are big because they represent the big things.
That's what I have to work on now. I've never had reason to learn to be kind to someone I'm so mad at because I've never been so mad before. I've never been betrayed like this and I've never had so much ammo available to me. 

Today, working on me means gaining control of my humanity and learning to hold back rather than emptying my clip just because I have it.

But that takes me working on me.

Do Whatever You Want

I recently taught an organizing workshop to the Relief Society in my ward. (Relief Society=women ward=local congregation) It was intimidating to do because I'm not technically an expert. I'm just sortof a pain in the ass to live with.

But there I was. Teaching an organizing workshop.

At the beginning of the class I told them that I was going to give them a whole bunch of specific rules and ideas for things. I was going to tell them about processes that work for me. And I made them solemnly swear that they wouldn't take it as truth if it stressed them out. That ultimately they would do whatever they hell they wanted.

So I wrote down rule #1 at the top of the chalkboard.

Do whatever you want.

And it was the theme of the night.

I feel like I learned Rule #1 here. In WoPA land.

We all ask for advice because we don't have a clue what to do. We want advice from everybody around us. What worked? What didn't? Why? What should I do in a similar situation?
In organization it was what do you do with all the nerf darts? And where do you store the 9 million "crafts" made out of construction paper?

I have answers for all that - but they only work for me because of my current emotional state and circumstances.

So when I said "horizontal surfaces are not storage facilities, they are for decorations only." and "it can't be in your home if it isn't functional or beautiful." I pointed to "but do whatever you want!" (because we don't say "hell" at church....even if we mean it.)

And when I spout my infinite wisdom here (and live, in person) I always want to say "stop having sex! have more sex! leave him! stay and wait! Get therapy! screw therapy! but do whatever the hell you want!" Because what do I know about you and where you are and what you should do? Who am I to tell you how to live? answer: nobody.

I definitely need a good sounding board, and I've had excellent advice from many many sources (but mostly WoPAs) and I'll be forever grateful for the tips, advice and support offered.

But it only works when I'm doing what I want.

Sometimes

Sometimes I hate people with thoughtful husbands.

Music

Husband becoming oblivious to the obvious needs around him (crying children, burning food, house on fire...ok maybe not house on fire....) is an enormous trigger to me. It's maddening because it just seems so selfish. So uninvolved. So....withdrawn.

So when I bought a piano (without his permission - do you know me in real life? It's a sortof funny story you can read on my real life blog if you want. Boom! Buffalo dead.) I was a teeny tiny bit concerned that he'd have a tendency to just play his heart out and withdraw into the piano a bit.

At the same time I hoped he would get some emotional relief and use it as a healthy way to cope with stress.

But mostly I bought it for me. Because it's MY piano. And I love it.


I read music. And I practice. I run drills and go over the same 5 measures until I can do it perfectly 3 times in a row, then I allow myself to move on. I love the feeling of having 'mastered' a song and working through the hard parts. 

Husband plays the piano by ear. He'll take a piece of music, struggle for the first few notes just to get the key and main chords down, then take off doing his own thing that sounds sortof a little bit similar to the song he started with.

It's an entirely different skill. And one that I envy.

Because this morning after a particularly painful night for both of us, he finally sat down at the piano, and what came out was our song.

And my babies came running, and we danced together while daddy played the piano.

I'd like to tell you that all the hurt and anger and sorrow melted away - but that's just not true. So I can't.
I'd like to tell you that we have suddenly realized that this piano has solved our problems and he now knows what to do with shame and hurt and stress - but that's also not true.

But what I can tell you is that for moment this morning, we all enjoyed each other.

Ma'am?

The other night it all went to hell. My kids and my husband all demanded too much from me and I lost it and ran away.

Too many requests.
Too much touching.
Too many tears.

The weep and wailing were too loud and the gnashing of teeth was just beginning.

So I grabbed my keys, recited my "I can't do this, I need space" line and left.

With no purse and no shoes, I wasn't ready to go out in public. The sun was long gone and I couldn't exactly go for a walk.

So I drove.

17 year old me took over and I drove to the local make-out point with stunning views of the valley and stars that never end.

In a minivan.
Alone.
With no shoes on.
Sobbing the whole way.

When I got there I pointed the van at the valley and turned off the car. I opened my phone and stared into the hypnotic blue glow. And I cried for all the things I feel I've lost.

Right on the cue the rain started to fall, and I rolled down the window to breath in the deliciously wet air.

That's when I saw a figure walking toward the car in the rearview mirror. but not in an ax murderer kind of way...

When he got to my open window the officer announced his presence. "Ma'am. Are you OK?"

"Yes, just trying to calm down after a long hard day." I tried to explain through my blubbering.

"Well the park is technically closed. But I'm sure it won't be a problem if you stay here and enjoy the view a little longer. ....." awkward pause "Is there anything the police force can do for you tonight?"

I assured him I'd be fine, and that I wasn't making out with anyone, and that I'd go home well before dawn.
He assured me I could stay as long as I want.

And after he left I started to laugh. Because I suddenly realized how stupid it must seem to any sane and well adjusted adult. Alone in a minivan in the middle of the night crying in the rain? Pathetic.

But to my little WoPA heart it was all just a regular Wednesday night.

One foot out the door

I feel his absence all the time.

He's mentally unaware of things that go on in our family.
He spends A LOT of time working.
He obsesses over money so he can pick up extra jobs and extra shifts.
He volunteers to help with things. Good things. But extra things just the same.
He looks for things to do to keep him busy.

Busy.
Away.
Unavailable.

I knew all that, but him saying "I like to stand by the door so I can leave quickly when I want to." still felt like a punch in the gut.

That's where he is. Exactly where he is. One foot out the door.

Which contributes to this lonely feeling. Like I am solely responsible for our life. The life we created - Our Littles. Our home. Our friends, neighbors, jobs. It's all on me. Because if he doesn't like what he's seeing, he's out. He's halfway out even when he's in.

In the spirit of full disclosure, I leave when it's overwhelming for me too. My recently discovered right to personal space has me overusing my car keys perhaps. When it all gets crazy here and I can't get space at home, I grab my keys the shoes nearest the door and I bolt. 
Sometimes I shop, or enjoy the view at our local makeout point, and always I come back, but I'm sure it's no picnic for him when I simply throw my hands up in the air and run. Somehow I feel justified in leaving because I had more steps to take to get out.

Though I suppose gone is gone. Isn't it? 

Just Him

I spent 16 straight hours connecting with real people who I really love.

I learned real things.
I felt real love.
I knew I had support.
And validation.
And connection.
And absolutely nothing to be lonely about.

But at the end of it, I got in my car (alone) and cried. Because none of it was with Husband. And that's who I want to have real love and support and validation and connection and real with. As much as I love the others, the relationship that matters the most to me has none of those things.

It was a beautiful day with new friends and old. I was genuinely happy to be there.

But at the end of the day, I just want all of that with the man I share my life with.

That's what makes it lonely.

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It's a strange sensation to have a life changing day, then come home to everything being the same.

I feel different, I learned things, I'm ready to try something new....
 .....but I came home to the same old stuff.  Nothing new here. Same lonely. Same pain. Same bad habits. Same petty problems.

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What If?

I know you're not supposed to play the "what if" game, but last week I had some conversations that have had me reeling ever since.

I realized that I don't like Husband and he doesn't like me. And I suddenly wondered what the hell are we doing? Why are we married? What are we hoping for at the end of this thing?

I've stayed married assuming that when the addiction is under control we'll get back to our happy loving and 'in love' selves and start enjoying each other again. But when I realized that he genuinely doesn't like me thus the constant avoidance and I'm not especially fond of him either, it all seemed so ludicrous. Why?!?!?! Why would we stay in this? I can't make him like me, what do I think will happen?

What if Husband gets his butt in recovery?
What if I stop picking on him?
What if he learns how to express himself again?
What if I figure out healthy boundaries?
What if we both just stop. it. and everything goes back to "normal"?

Then we're left with just us, and right now that's not looking very appealing. Which leaves us married to each other out of convenience.

And there I am again. Sitting on the sofa thinking what the hell?

Where Do I Want Him?

After another epic therapy session today I'm left with a lot of deep dark soul searching questions. I have a lot of writing and searching and wondering to do. And I'm an itty bit terrified of the answers. But I finally feel like I really WANT the answers. So I'll dive in and do it even if I'm afraid.

Lousy good for nothing fear.

But one question from our session today is still rolling around in the back of mind. We talked about where I want Husband. If I could place him anywhere in the room, where would I want him?

I looked around the room and saw all kinds of places I didn't want him. (in the far corner, on the table in front of me)
I knew the "right" answer which was totally wrong. (on the sofa next to me)
I knew the wrong answers which made me nervous just thinking about them.

But it took a few minutes before I found a place for him that was comfortable for me.

I finally did. I wanted him standing near the sofa. Not facing me, but facing Therapist's chair.

The obvious insight it provided was quite valuable for me. I feel safe with him at a distance working on whatever he needs to work on. Not looking to me for answers or too close. Not shunned with his face against a wall on the other side of the room. But also not right next to me working on what he needs to work on. Right now I need distance.

Unfortunately it didn't answer all my questions and it isn't my ultimate goal, and I'm still not sure how to change the way I feel about it and how to get more comfortable with having him where I really want him.....

In the meantime I was surprised by the answer, and thankful for the insight.

But now I'm curious: where is your husband? And where do you want him to be?

Porn Wife Training

Through the last few years, I've gone through some pretty rigorous Porn Wife Training. My favorite of which is *Addo Recovery. I've learned new ways to deal with old habits and as a result my life has become more manageable. I've learned basic survival skills for any WoPA.

 *disclaimer learning and implementing are different things

How to practice self care
Setting and enforcing boundaries
Avoiding triggers
Dealing with triggers
Finding support
Identifying problems
Stopping the mind chatter
Seeing through the garbage
Working through conflict
Communication and all that regular marriage crap

It's all been geared toward Husband and the porn and sexual addiction. It's all geared toward our relationship. And the thing I have in common with all my best support people is this piece.

Then I step out of porn wife mode and deal with regular problems. Typically that isn't rocket science and doesn't take a great deal of training. But every now and then I hit one that makes me think "I've learned this in my Porn Wife Training. What was the answer again?"

But too often, it's out of context and it isn't until later that I realize my Porn Wife Training would have come in handy.

This weekend I spent and unreasonable amount of time with my sisters. And during one long deep talk late at night (a recipe for disaster) I was triggered in a big way.
I felt inferior and judged.
I felt stupid and hurt.
I wanted the earth to open up and swallow me whole.
I was mad and embarrassed and so so sad.

I could feel the tears stuck in my throat. They burned the back of my eyes and my breathing started to sound like panting. And true to my tried and true pattern, I withdrew. 

With the perspective time always brings, now I see it for what it was. I see the appropriate and relatively simple responses I could have used. It's now clear that I could have spoken. Although I felt it, I wasn't paralyzed.

That's the thing about Porn Wife Training.

For me, it's really just Life Training.

*If you're new to the game, or old to the game; you want new tricks to deal with your addict, or your mother in law; maybe you just want to feel the illusive peace that people around you seem to experience; no matter the reason or the phase you're currently in, I cannot recommend Addo Recovery highly enough.
If you'd like to hear pieces of other women's stories, you can see these incredible women who have shared.

My Badge of Courage

When Husband and I went through infertility crap I was very open with pretty much everyone about our struggles. My heart was breaking and it was so comforting to know that people were praying for me, helping me, and thinking about me. Because I was able to share with them, there weren't any judging "why don't you have kids yet" questions or stares.They knew what was happening and that my heart was broken, they were gentle with me.

I was immediately adopted into the infertility club. A small group of women who were experiencing the same childless heartache though all of us for different reasons. We all earned badges of courage in that group.

Then surprisingly I got pregnant. 

And suddenly it was like I couldn't possibly understand the pain of all my infertile friends. Though nobody ever said anything directly, I didn't fit in that group anymore. I was stripped of my badge.

While there are similarities, this kind of heartbreak is so very different.

I never dreamed I'd feel so alone. I couldn't imagine Husband being the reason my heart was breaking and my dreams were shattered. I wouldn't explain this to anyone, and in general people in my life don't know to pray for me and withhold judgement. I get snappy remarks and unknowingly cutting remarks.

Then I found a group of women and I immediately felt a part of a "hard life" club again. Prayers and support and love and acceptance and so SO much understanding.

But every now and then I feel as if my story is inadequate.

In a world filled with horrifying and heartbreaking stories of infidelity and addiction, it's easy to compare our stories and feel as if I haven't earned my badge. It's easy to question if Husband's behavior really merits all of the ache. It's hard not  to wonder if the friends I love so dearly are looking at me and thinking about how good I have it, wondering what I'm whining about.

But every now and then, when I have the opportunity to talk to people who aren't immersed in addiction and recovery and the horribly awful world of porn, I feel validated. I feel like I'm earning my badge. I feel like this trial in my life is legitimate. And it's OK for me to feel all of the betrayal and heartache I feel.

Doing It Wrong

I've been doing It wrong.

Not that It. Though I've done that It wrong in the past too...

I realized a few weeks ago how simply I'd been getting my own space. Freak out, have a meltdown, be mad and POOF! Space.

I could grab my keys, storm off in a fit of rage and have all the time I needed. Nobody asks a crazy lady questions so I take the car or not. I could walk it off, go out to eat alone, or do any other thing I wanted. But I came home mad. Mad that the only way I get to be alone is after throwing a fit or getting mad. I was mad that nothing got better while I was gone. I was mad that being in my house made me crazy. Mad mad mad.

So decided to start getting space in a new way.

It wasn't easy - new patterns never are - but after the first few times I got better at it and so did Husband. The Littles are still trying to catch on - but they will.

I say "I need a minute" and I take a minute. No argument. No discussion. No whining.

If anybody asks any questions, I simply leave. Before throwing my biting comment back in response. Well I don't know WHAT the hell you're supposed to do, but you're a grown man, so I'm sure you can figure it out for at least 2 minutes without me...I do it every damn day. All day every damn day.

That was a big deal, but the bigger deal was when I realized I was doing my Space Time wrong too.

I'd worry and feel guilty and be mad reviewing our last mean words to each other over and over again storing them for evidence of what a Jerk I married. I'd cry and be sad that this was my life. I could feel the anger and the hurt bubbling out of my throat burning all the way.

But yesterday when Husband and kids were buckled in the car and ready to go to a family event, I simply bowed out. "I just need some time." I said and watched them pull away with a smile on my face.

And since I had time I did exactly what I wanted. I vegged, watched a show, ate and peed in peace.

And then, when that little voice inside me said "OK. You're good now." I got up. I did dishes, I cooked for my family and planned some upcoming events and Lady Productivity was happy to be let loose.

It's so easy when I'm mid-meltdown to stay melted. To smash down that little voice. Because an object in motion stays in motion. And changing the direction of that motion takes a decent amount of force.

Sometimes my little voice is just too little and my wallow-motion wins. But if I've entered the wallowing peacefully, it's much easier to hear. It takes far less force to change direction and at then end of my Space Time, I feel better. I've had a rejuvenating mud bath rather than having wallowed with swine.

Here's my sign. If at the end of my Space Time it's not better, I was doing it wrong.

Dreaming

Jacy was sharing her dreams and I realized that I've never been a big dreamer. I don't want to be rich or famous or well liked. I want a simple life. With a few close friends and a lot of kind acquaintances.

I started to write my simple dreams as a comment on her post, but now I can't stop. I don't have BIG dreams, but I do have a BIG list of SIMPLE dreams.

I want to stay at home with my Littles and teach them to make bread and listen to them play catch together while I weed the garden.

I want to learn to do my own hair and not look like some icky 70's rocker dude with the wavy-not-curly hair.

I want to own my own home and have it feel like peace instead of chaos and tension.

And someday I want to ride a bike in a skirt. The kind of bike with a bell and a basket. I want to take that bike grocery shopping for just a loaf of bread, pay cash and put the change in my pocket. On my way home I'll wave to my neighbors as I ride past smiling like an idiot. I don't want to do this everyday - just once. ..... Or maybe twice.

I want to teach. I'm unqualified to teach most everything - but someday somehow I'd like to teach someone something of value. I don't really know that I care about the format, or the content. I'd just like to teach.

I'd like to be followed by a photographer for 18 hours while I do regular life. I want someone to capture the sweet and normal moments of my life.
My boys sitting on my lap while I read them bedtime stories.
The 3 of us snuggling under the covers of my son's twin-sized bed.
The face my little one makes when I've served him unacceptable food (read: not ice cream) and he dumps it all over the floor and blows raspberries my direction.
The sweat dripping off my forehead after I've spent hours in the yard tearing out the bad and cultivating the good.
Husband and I curled up together on the love sac at the end of a long day.
I want my real life - in all it's horror and glory to be documented by someone who has the gift for making even the ugliest moments look incredible.

As it turns out, I've had all kinds of opportunities to live many of my simple dreams. And for that I feel blessed.

Sharing

I can see how sharing your story can become addicting.

In fact as we talk about ourselves dopamine is released in the brain. So it's a scientifically proven that our brains enjoy this kind of interaction (hello blogging high!) but when you share your most real self, I can only imagine that affect is compounded.

Every time I get a text or an e-mail or a hear of a friend of a friend who just wants a friend, I feel that same urge to hear their story and share mine. I want to share pieces of mine with pieces of theirs and block out the rest of the world as we talk through what is real.

As more people step out in the light this story becomes easier to share and easier to live.

This is what compels me to write. I often feel that my story is less intense (and therefore less important) than so many others I hear. But I want every story to have a voice. In the beginning I longed for someone to treat "this little problem" as a real problem. I wanted someone to validate my heartache. Someone to understand just how big this was to me.

So I share my story in my little corner of the internet and know that it heals me to do so. Nobody's story will ring as true to me as my own.

I Could Never Have Imagined

I've taken the time to think through this pieces of my life experience and evaluate the path I've walked.

I've been surprised to discover how I feel about it.

Husband's addiction has brought opportunities, relationships and experiences into my life which I could never wish away. Walking through the valley of the shadow of death has been harrowing for sure. But tonight there is no doubt in my mind that my steps have been guided.

I spoke with some strangers this afternoon about my experiences. I stood in a room crowded with men and answered questions about the hardest and most traumatizing pieces of my life so far. I shared with them some of the feelings of betrayal and trauma (and who knew? there's this thing called betrayal trauma!) and the hope that has taken up residency in my heart.

We spoke of relationships I couldn't possibly have created without this community. This community of which you are a part. Even if you've lurked and never commented. Even if you never write your own story. Even if you haven't yet reached out. You are a part of this community. There are moments (like now) when I simply feel drawn to you. Because I know you're there, reading and nodding but mostly relating.

We spoke of the difference I see in me. I've become more loving and accepting, and I've learned to see. people. in a whole knew way. In fact I'd dare say I never really saw people before.

We talked for just one hour about the blessings I've found through this. At least I think that's what we talked about...

When the smooth waters of my life were disrupted with one small pebble's plop in the water, I could never have imagined beauty in the ripples to come.

photo by Michael Foley Photography (source)

Shaaaaame

My MIL is a dear person who I typically have a really great relationship with.

But her views on things are sometimes....extreme. Usually I can just write it off as her being her and agree to (silently) disagree.

She has a strained relationship with her daughters, but because of when I entered her life (and many common interests) I sortof feel like she has felt closer to me. I also happened to marry her golden child (oh, poor mama would die if she knew) and by association I am also golden.

But tonight I did something she doesn't approve of RIGHT in front of her. Like in her mind it's a sin. (In my mind it's not - didn't even cross my mind that she might take issue with it.) And oh the shame.

I asked Husband if I was going to get grounded. He said yes. We laughed. I cried a little inside.  And here I am 4 hours later still squirming at the thought that she doesn't approve of me.

Oh shame. How I loathe thee.

Highs and Lows

It seems like things around here have been either extremely high or extremely low.

I'm seeing Husband do great things he's never been willing to do before recovery wise.
But I'm also seeing him sink to new lows.

During the last 6 months he's done things I thought I'd never see him do. Most of these things might not be that big a deal to you or yours, but they are lines I was sure he'd never cross. Things I thought he'd never do. Though I also thought he'd never look at porn....what do I know?

The latest is the one that scares me the most. He has started yelling. At me and The Littles.

His biological father was a pretty abusive man, he yelled a lot and hit them occasionally. Husband was terrified of him until the day he died. He hated that man. And it is his life's mission not to be like him. Which is why yelling has always been off limits.

WAY off limits.


I grew up in a family where we barely talked about things at all - much less yelled them. To this day I've never heard my dad raise his voice.

But on Sunday after asking and being ignored 3 times, I got in Husband's face about something and he yelled at me - not just a little. A lot. I refused to back down (one of my major flaws) and I swear there was a look in his eye I've never seen before. If he hadn't walked away stormed out when he did he might have hit me. I sobbed for about 10 minutes until I had people coming over for a meeting.

It took most of the day and a lot of distraction to feel like I even dared talk to him; but even then I couldn't bring it up, so we still haven't discussed it.

Tonight when he shamed my son (who said he hated me) my son started to cry and screamed at the top of his lungs, Husband (while driving 85 mph on the on-ramp of the freeway) turned around and yelled/growled/shouted and my Little. When I told him to stop it and watch the road he turned on me.

He drove like a maniac the rest of the way home (about 30 minutes) while I prayed that something would slow him down before he hurt somebody. Fortunately we hit traffic and he was forced to drive a more reasonable speed.

By the time we got home Husband was back to his regular nice self. He acted like nothing happened and when he put his hand on my back and I shuddered he was offended.
How dare I hold it against him?
It wasn't a big deal, what is my problem?
He can't believe I won't just forgive him.

I swear he has moments of sanity and clarity and goodness. Glimpses of recovery.

But when it gets hard, Jekyll is nowhere to be found and Hyde runs unrestrained through my home.

That's when I feel like an idiot for sticking around. And validated for saying this is a real issue. 

With or Without Him

I think I sometimes have a "strong" personality - which is the polite way of saying I'm a pain in the butt and difficult to live with. And in order to counteract my "strong" personality, I spend a lot of time trying to make sure I'm not in anybody's way. I don't want to step on toes or steal somebody's thunder, or be in the way. I want to do my job while everybody else does theirs.

That's why it's hard for me to kill my own buffalo when it's so clearly Husband's job.

When he's gone, it becomes clearly my job and I'm happy to step up to the plate. I kill spiders, care for open flesh wounds, climb trees to chop down limbs and pay people to do maintenance on the cars - all by myself. (I know...I'm impressive. [insert mock bows here])

Historically, we run a tight ship around here, staying as busy as possible and often over-scheduling our poor little family. This means either he does everything or I do everything as the other one of us is off doing something else. It's easier to take responsibility when the choices for responsible people are just me or The Littles.
 
But in an effort to repair our damaged relationship and live our lives at a more reasonable pace, we've made a concerted effort to Stop It.We're slowing down. Not going places every day and trying to make our relationship a higher priority than all the other relationships.

This means we're around each other more. Which is.....different.

The tough part for me is killing my own buffalo while my *mumble mumble, grumble grumble* husband stands there watching.

Can I load The Littles in the stroller and walk them to school without getting anybody hit by a car all by myself? Yes I can.
Can I kill the spiders, do the dishes, kiss the skinned knees and answer the phone while cooking mac 'n cheese ? Yes I can.
Can I pay people to maintain my cars, pump my own gas, be an awesome landlord and mow my own lawn? Yes I can.

But when Husband joins us on any of these adventures, I hate him for making me do it all.
I want him to kiss the knees while I cook the lunch.
I want to squeal like a little girl while he kills the unbelievably large spider.
I want to count on him to chase one Little out of the street while the other Little and I examine the worms in the sidewalk cracks.
I want him to at least load the gun for me so I can kill the buffalo.

This is still my challenge. Killing my own buffalo WITH (or without) him.

So this week when he joined us for our walk to school, distracting The Littles from the walking part and encouraging them to walk in the middle of the road, then asked me what was for lunch as I was cleaning up breakfast, I smiled and didn't tell him where to look for lunch.

Baby steps.

A Non WoPA friend

We Wives of Porn Addicts have found something amazing in our relationships together.

We share our deepest darkest secrets, our hopes and fears, our questions and answers. And these really REAL relationships are among my favorites. My dearest friends, the people I trust, and the people who make me feel like it's going to be OK.

But because the thing that brings us together is addiction, these relationships are sometimes (for me) heavy. We talk about all that's wrong in our lives and in the world, we wonder what else we can do, we hurt and ache and cry together. And I'm so glad. These relationships are something I so desperately need.

I often feel like I'm drowning in recovery. Meetings, and therapy, and group therapy, and his therapy, and friends, and all babysitting hours are spent focusing on The Problem and how to cope.

After spending the day with a close friend who knows nothing of our problems, and (to my knowledge) nothing of sexual addiction I am glad I have WoPA friends and non-WoPA friends.

The day was light and easy and care-free.
We talked about the kids in their developmental stages and the next big decisions in our lives.
New homes, new schools, new schedules for our families.
Updates on common friends and common experiences.
We broke up fights between our kids and wiped noses and fed little mouths.

We related in a common, easy, happy way.

And though I treasure my real, raw, honest relationships with all of you; it was nice to be reminded that there is a place for real, honest relationships with non WoPites too.

Acceptance

The year is 2010  Husband and I are sitting on our shrink's sofa. The cushions haven't yet molded to our butts because we're still relatively new here.

Shrink: Well, I guess what I'm saying is that you get to choose. Live with it or don't.

Buffalo Gal: I don't want to. I want it to go away. I hate that this is part of MY life when I didn't invite it.

S: Well, you get to choose. Live with it or don't.

BG: I choose don't.

S: Husband, what do you choose?

H: Well obviously this isn't what I wanted in my life.

S: So....

A few weeks later I saw Shrink alone for the first time. He was Husband's Shrink and I stole him.

Shrink: There's a woman in my ward who is married to an alcoholic. He's not working on it. She hates that he's an alcoholic and she doesn't want him to be, but he is and he's who she married. So she comes to church with her kids and listens to the lessons and serves in callings and goes home to her alcoholic husband every day. Sometimes he's drunk, sometimes he's not, but she lives the way she wants to all the time.

BG: I will never ever do that. I don't want to just accept it. I don't want to live with it. I don't want to tolerate it or start to believe there are worse things. I like hating this behavior because it's wrong and I'm right to hate it.

Shrink: Yep. You are. So I guess what I'm saying is that you get to choose. Live with it or don't.

BG: I choose don't.

I'm not really sure when it happened, but somewhere along the way, I changed my mind. Today I choose live with it. 
The thought of Husband in his addiction no longer disgusts me or makes me want to claw the arms of the couch wishing I could crawl inside it. 
When I see people living with imperfect people my blood doesn't boil and I no longer sit on my high horse reminding them that they should hate with a fiery passion all that is wrong. 
I suppose I've climbed down and chosen to slum it with the addict. A choice I couldn't even comprehend 3 years ago. 
But here I am. I'd still like to live without it because the addiction magically disappears one night, but if not, today I choose to stay. And that choice doesn't sound as idiotic and weak as it used to.

Something New

My testimony is shallow (if I'm being critical of myself) and low maintenance (if I'm being generous) and in reality probably lies somewhere in between.

It hasn't ever been hard for me to believe in the Gospel. It hasn't been hard to make sacrifices for the church. It hasn't been hard for me to reach out or to serve or to believe in something more. My faith comes easily and with very little work. And though I feel like this addiction has brought my world crashing down it's still easy for me to see God in the little things and feel a general sense of guidance through life. Even through this, I haven't really entertained the idea that He isn't there.

That's my justification for the very little effort I put into my testimony and my relationship with God.

 Husband has generally been the same way. Though this whole experience has brought him to his knees. And I'm noticing a change. The real kind. 

The kind of change where he bring his scriptures with him everywhere we go. A few weeks ago we went camping and he brought them with him - even getting out of the warm tent to face the cold night to retrieve and read them in the darkness. It sounds like a "duh" thing to those of you who dive in and feast every day, but it was a big thing for me to see.

These are the kinds of changes I'm not sure I'm ready to make for myself. These are the kinds of changes I'm afraid it will take to truly discover who I am. When I think about it logically I don't know what I have to lose, I just know it's overwhelming and paralyzing right now. And for now my simple faith is more attractive.

But it's also beautiful to watch in him - not for the first time - seeing his goodness has me longing to be a better person with more depth. 

It's strange for me to see this in him while simultaneously seeing the addiction rule his life. But I suppose like all things in life, it's not all good or all bad. But somewhere, wavering between.

A Bottle of Water and a Footstool

At the ripe old age of 20-something I think I've seen my fair share (6) of therapists in my life. I also had the opportunity to work closely with a bunch that I wasn't seeing and I know that like any group of people they are all different.

So if you see someone and don't love it, that doesn't mean that therapy isn't for you.

Even knowing that I've seen therapists without making a lot of progress for long periods of time and now that I'm seeing someone who I really truly love I see even more how much it matters.

In previous therapists offices (who were fabulous people) I'd worry about where to sit, and what to do with my bag. I'd cross one leg under myself and sit on one foot until it fell asleep wishing I could rest them both on the table in front of me. I'd bring my own tissues, because what if they don't have any and they make me cry? I'd sniffle and sob until my mouth was so dry I couldn't eek out a coherent thought.

Perhaps it's timing and my own growing capacity to be comfortable on someone else's turf - or perhaps I've finally found the right fit for me.

These days, I walk into the office, and they greet me with a smile. They offer me a cold bottle of water - they are often the only people to offer me anything all week long - and as I rearrange the coasters, the footstool and the tissue box I feel nervously comfortable.

I always let out a deep breath as I set down my purse and silence my phone. I take off my shoes and sink into "my" corner of the couch knowing that it will be an emotional but validating hour resulting in food for thought to last the week.

I am amazed by just how much that bottle of cool water and a footstool make me feel taken care of, comfortable and at home.

I can't tell you enough how important a good therapist is.

Vulnerable

It's been a bit of a rough week at our house.

Not because of the regular rough-inducers, but because of normal non addiction life roughness.

Oddly it's been refreshing. Regular (and socially acceptable) roughness is a nice change of pace.

But here's the thing. When we go through rough things we talk about it on a very surface level. I'm naturally a pretty open person, so it's not hard to tell Husband that x, y or z went wrong. X, Y & Z are obviously wrong and anybody in the world can see that. No wonder it's easy to say it to him.

But the deeper darker fears and feelings I generally save for myself.
I cry in the middle of the night when my house is quiet and I can sneak out my back door and sit under my favorite tree.
I weep while I drive after a taxing day.
I also cry for people, with people, and about the regular stuff. Those are tears I'm happy to share. But mine are just for me.
But mainly, I don't share my shame. When I do something that makes me feel ashamed, I stuff it and run away. 

That's why it's a big deal that after an embarrassing (even shaming) evening I was able to honestly tell him exactly what happened and exactly how distraught I felt. I told him about being the fool. I explained my fears and my nervousness about facing these people again.

The strangest thing was his reaction. One I haven't seen for a long time.

My addict husband opened his arms to me and held me and listened to me cry.

It was a small step, yes. But it was in the right direction.

The Togetherness Project

 

Something amazing is happening and I hope you'll join me there.

The Edge

It feels to me like there is a current trend of separation among the WoPAs I love and adore. And I feel a bit like the odd one out for not getting on bored with it. But that's OK. I've been the odd one out before and I likely will again and the bottom line is that what works for one (or all) of the WoPAs I know and love doesn't necessarily have to work for me. I'm not writing to call anybody out, but to give voice to the minority.

There is a current trend (OK lifelong habit) of compulsive honesty in my marriage and I can't quite get behind that either.

I need honesty, I value honesty, I am thankful beyond all reason that Husband has always come clean to me on his own.

But the truth is that his 2 second immediate confessions felt more like he was dumping the problem in my lap to be dealt with than real honesty.

So I was stuck. What was happening isn't working, but I couldn't figure out what to do about it because the enforcement ideas swirling around me (primarily "make him leave") just don't seem helpful for me.

In an individual therapy session we talked and explored the problem. And that's when I (ok really we....have I mentioned the value of a good shrink? No? Remember in the Duck Tales opening sequence where they dive and swim in piles of gold? Good shrinks are much more valuable than the piles of gold.) stumbled on The Edge of my comfort zone.

Do I like knowing? Yes.
Do I like him telling me quickly? Yes.
Do I like feeling responsible to fix it? No.
Let's talk about how the conversation goes when he tells you.  He says "I just masturbated" and you say.... "ok. what are you going to do next?" Some new ideas of conversation are thrown around and I (rudely - is there any other way?) interrupt That would never happen. There's never time for all this, babies would be crying or whining or breaking things. One of us would be on our way somewhere and late. Someone would have called. Other obligations would definitely come up before we could really get into it. 

The more I explained the more I realized I had unwittingly stumbled upon The Edge. The timing of the confession was my problem. The feeling of "dump and go" was created by the "going".

The conversation begins and ends with the confession. As if the telling of the event nullified it and nothing further was necessary. And that concept is maddening to me. It sends me straight off a cliff flailing my limbs as a slowly fall to the crashing waves beneath.

The edge of my comfort zone is my new boundary: I want to know, but you have to keep it to yourself until we can have a real conversation about it.

Because for me it makes sense.

Finding The Edge of my comfort, my appreciation, and my acceptance wasn't as hard or as scary as it usually is.

 

It makes me wonder if all my boundaries edges ought to feel so comfortable. 

Time

Sometimes I look at our progress (or lack of) and how slowly it seems to be going and I'm frustrated, discouraged, confused and I just don't understand what I'm doing wrong. (Other times I'm well aware of what I'm doing wrong...)

But today a discussion with an inspired coworker has me remember how very little it matters how long this takes us.

God is eternity, and if it takes us 70 years (oh I cringe at the thought!) that's OK. Success after 70 years is still success and the truth is this life is short in the grand scheme of things.

Of course I am not as patient and eternal as God is (yet) so I'm not saying I have the stamina to keep it up for 70 years, but I am saying that I'm feeling much less rushed this week. It is simply a process. And in the process we make mistakes, we handle situations poorly, we learn and we take our experience into the next round.

There is no deadline. Husband doesn't need 25 years of sobriety by the time he's 50. It isn't a race to see who can "win" the fastest or the best. It's just a life experience and failure is part of it. And that's OK.

Today I feel at peace with the process. A welcome change in attitude.

Inviting the Spirit

A month ago I met with Bishop and he asked how I felt about Husband having a calling or assignment. They had asked him to speak in church and quite frankly I thought it was great. Bishop has asked Husband to do some things to invite the spirit into his life, and Husband struggles to do them. I told Bishop that anything that would motivate him to have spiritual experiences in my book. "He'll study and learn in preparation for giving a talk, I say bring it on." I responded.

During the last month Husband has gone from having 1 easy calling to having 3. The latest one came today. He'll be serving in YM and the Scouting program. He'll be gone once a week, teaching lessons on Sunday AND regular campouts this summer. He'll be involved with other people in the ward and he'll get out of himself frequently.

In my mind it's great news, but at the same time, I was enjoying the relationship he was building with my kids. It was nice (sometimes) to have him around, and now that I enter the scout-widows club I'm wondering if I was a little to eager to have him working so hard.

When it rains it pours.

Roommates

Husband decided that he refused to live in a sex-free marriage. That if I was going to hold out on him he was going to leave. He was done. He couldn't handle it anymore. A fight he wouldn't fight anymore.

By the time he told me this, he actually presented it in a fairly rational (minus the demand) focused and respectful way. But I was horrified that he was there.

He felt like we have drifted so far apart that there's not much to save at this point.

And he's right, we've drifted. I've been trying to let go, and frankly I got tired of trying. So I stopped trying. And what do you know? We drifted. Separate lives, one house. And it didn't take long.

I didn't notice it so much until a pest control sales guy came to our house and I told him I'd talk to Husband about it and he could stop by later.

He stopped by the next day and we hadn't spoken a word to each other.

He stopped by the next day and Husband and I still can't talked about it or anything else.

He called and I told him no because I was embarrassed to say I still hadn't had a conversation with the man I live with.

Anyhow, after the night Husband made his demand (sex or divorce) we both spent some time with our therapists and together and I was able to articulate some points of serious damage in our relationship. He was able to understand where I was coming from, and for now we're living happily ever after. We've made some adjustments to some boundaries, we've expressed our feelings, and we even had 3 conversations in just 2 days.

It's a nice moment right now, the feeling of calm and one-ness. Today we are on the same page, and we feel like more than people who share the rent.

A Tree Divided

I drive by this tree every day on my way to work. 

I always wonder if the porn has driven a wedge between us and we'll never grow together again. Are we headed down different paths? Trying to keep our roots together while growing as far from each other as possible? 

I hope not...but even if we are, both halves of this tree are doing great.

Husband's tiny (HUGE!!!) victory.

After a few days of hell. I mean it. HELL. Husband had an amazing victory on Tuesday night. Saturday he got all crazy turned on and I felt like I’d be feeding the addiction if I “hooked a brother up” (i.e. had sex with him) So I didn’t. And for him it got harder. And harder. And harder.

This is the cycle. He's horny. I decline a sexual invitation (for any number of reasons, sunburn, period, it's 11:30 and our kids are reading stories with us....whatever). Then he acts out, confesses, feels bad, apologizes, swears it will never happen again, rededicates himself and tries harder for a while. Until he gets turned on again.

But on Tuesday night when I got home after him being home alone with the boys for 8 hours he looked like hell. He hadn’t shaved or showered since Sunday. He had been getting up at the crack of dawn and spending the days out in the yard. He was filthy and tired and looked......horrible. As I walked in the door he all but collapsed on the kitchen floor and told me he thought it was over. The horniness had finally eased up and he felt like he was going to live.

This was the first time in his life that a sexual craving – that feeling of “do or die” had left his body without him acting on it. He honestly didn’t believe that could happen. To be honest I have no idea why he let it ride this time. No clue why he worked so hard. But he did and I swear to you I’ve never been so proud of him. Ever. Suddenly we both know it is possible. And that. Is. Huge.

It has now been 48 hours since the big success and he’s back in the throes of it. 

He’s mad because I pushed his hand away when he groped me this morning. 

He’s hurt that I let him go through all of that earlier this week. 

He’s discouraged because the high didn’t last long enough. 

And he’s struggling.  

As I started getting ready for work he told me he really wished I could stay home and be with the family so we could go do something fun (and distracting). He didn’t ask me to call in sick and certainly didn’t expect it, but I know he would have been over the moon if I had. 

A few years ago I made a conscious decision to take the stance that his addiction would never ever impact my schedule; but after spending a night a week at recovery meetings, a fortune on therapy and far too many moments worrying, thinking, and planning I can't really pretend it doesn’t affect my schedule anymore.

Which has me wondering (again) where is that line? I’m not his babysitter, I don’t call in sick to my job because he can’t keep it in his pants and I don’t think I need to fix it for him. But I truly do want to SUPPORT any recovery behavior.

How do I clarify (for me and for him) what is an appropriate request and what is not?