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.
Monday, July 29, 2013
Thursday, July 25, 2013
Wednesday, July 17, 2013
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 myboundaries edges ought to feel so comfortable.
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
Monday, July 15, 2013
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.
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.
Wednesday, July 3, 2013
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.
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.
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