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.