Bill of Rights

Monday, July 28, 2014

A Positive Change

My blog posts tend to be focused more on my struggles than my successes.  That needs to change.

Starting today.

I like this quote.  A lot!  It fits me.  I like to look for the good side of things.  It is easier to deal with the rough spots if I do this.






I like to be happy.  It's my nature.  I try not to be negative or complain (Though I know that happens --  too much maybe.)   I've learned over the past couple years how important gratitude is in recovery work.  While I recognize I will have bad days as I struggle to work through some of my feelings and issues with H, I still want to be happy.  I don't want my rough spots and snags to negatively effect me or those around me.  I for sure, don't want it to impact my future.


“A pessimist sees the difficulty in every opportunity; an optimist sees the opportunity in every difficulty.” ~Winston Churchill

I have never wanted to be the 'downer' person.  It weighs on friendships and relationships.  

My current example:  S was in California going through basic training for the Marines.  It was rough on his wife.   The first block of training had a finite number of days.  She knew when S would be done and could make plans around it.  She made a countdown chain for the littles and set up some scheduled friend time and a lot of  some alone time (yup..I got the littles for that part).   Before I knew it the 13 weeks was up and it was time for her to go meet S and be there for his graduation.   The problem developed when the short ten day break was over and S had to return to California.  This time, with no end date in site.  This hit Dl harder than she expected it.   She's not shaking it.  Two weeks now.   She feeds the pain and why it sucks for her and everything is a mess because of it.  It snowballs out of control.  (Maybe, I've been doing this lately too -- in a different way.)






This picture was taken Saturday night on a date night.  I can't remember the last time we had one of those.  What made this one so great is the crazy thing we did.  This is me and H eating dinner while we walked around Wal-mart.  Weird I know.  (And kinda frustrating when we checked out because the self-check scale didn't like all those empty containers).  Oh how we've needed something fun, something out of the box for a while.  Some time just for us.   General Tso's chicken, Triscuits, a bottle of water and a store full of stuff we've seen a thousand times -- not that unique.  Its a fact I've been found on more trips to Wal-mart than not, to open up a box of something and feed one of the littles so I can shop in peace.   This night, there were no littles, no fruit snacks,  no goldfish.  It was just the two of us and boundless creative options for dinner.  

It worked.  It was fun.  It was healing.  Such a silly little thing made a huge difference and broke through a snag.  It open up a path out that I hadn't been able to see previously.  

I realize how desperately I need a happiness project.  Something that I do to help break through my rough patches.   In one of the Addo classes I took last year, Dr. Skinner had us make a calming kit.   Dr Skinner said;  "Your brain becomes hijacked when you are experiencing emotional crisis, thus resulting in decisions and actions highly influenced from our limbic system (the emotional/ fear center inside the brain). When hijacked, we react upon intense emotions and often behave in ways we regret later on. To prevent unwanted behaviors and feel in control we need to calm ourselves by regulating our mind and body through self-calming"


He suggested the following items:


Smell
  • A favorite lotion or perfume
  • A nostalgic smell
  • Essential Oil
Taste
  • Dark chocolate
  • Honey sticks
  • Gum
Sight
  • Photos of family
  • Post cards of places you have been or want to go
  • Inspiring quotes
Touch
  • Soft blanket
  • Smooth stone
Sound
  • Mix CD of inspiriting music
  • CD of nature sounds
  • Audio recording of positive self-talk
Kinesthetic
  • Package of play-dough or clay
  • Pen and paper for doodling
  • Oils, makers, paints
Internal
  • Crisis journal
  • Scriptures/Quote

Taking this a step farther, I added to my kit a few items that might help break H and I out of a stuck spot.  Some ideas I had are:

  • two movie tickets
  • two balloons taped to a map to the local park   
  • take a deck of cards down to a local soda shop -- get a soda and play go fish
  • two chocolate bars and a 'let's take a walk' coupon 
  • a coupon that with the suggestion to 'lay on a blanket out on the deck and look at the stars together'
  • play you-tube 'name that tune' over a bowl of popcorn

I realized Saturday night I have spent so much time trying to avoid H.  I don't know how to be myself around him any more.  I can stay in my world of self-protection, hiding emotionally and physically from H or I can look for a way out of all of this mess and try to build a brighter future.  It will take some time to work this out.  It will take some trusting of myself and of H.  It will take being vulnerable, which I avoid like the plague around him.   I can stay in my slump or I can look for a way out -- and maybe a way up.


I use this quote all the time when I need it to make my point to someone else.  Today its time for to take a does of my own medicine.


Time to re-think how I think.





Thursday, July 24, 2014

Reaching Out For Support




About fourteen years ago I was laying on the exam table at the OB's office when the tech looked at me with one of 'those' looks and excused herself.  I was just at the end of my first trimester.  Those words were the last words I ever expected to hear -- ever.  I hadn't been able to get pregnant for ten years.  Wouldn't God let me keep this one?  I can't even begin to explain how excited I was to finally be able to experience pregnancy again, to be able to nurse a baby, to hold a baby that was my very own.  I had been praying for another child for nearly a decade.  The moment that tech let those words out of her mouth the breath and life went out of me.  I knew.  

In that moment it was suddenly physically painfully evident that I was 2,300 miles away from the one person I needed most in my life, my mom.  In those first few moments the fear of having to deal with this experience alone frightened me more than the sadness of losing my child consumed me.  

Being alone in a traumatic situation is one of the worst pieces of life we ever experience. We are not here on this mortal journey to live in solitude.  We are here to experience and share life with the humanity around us.  We need people to connect to.  We especially need someone during the painful times.   

Even though I wanted to hide in a hole from that moment into forever, that day, I was blessed by a wonderful woman who had worked along side me in my church calling.  She came to me, sat next to me and cried with me.  She held my pain.  She held me. I didn't ask for her help.  For me, in that moment, her gift of time was priceless.

I have needed that kind of friend more and more as the effects of life with an addict have taken over my soul.  I never found one.  Worse, I have come to see my friend finding challenge complicated by a set of circumstances that are unique to addiction in the LDS culture.  

Here's my "Top Ten" list of connection complications in an LDS environment:

1.  My visiting teachers (two women who are assigned to "check" on me at least monthly) just showed up at the door.  I can't tell them that the reason I'm a mess this month and don't want to let them in to see the disaster that lies in my wake, is because I just discovered another dirty email between my husband and some other woman.  (And that was just this week's discovery.)


2.  I'm teaching a lesson on the LDS principle of Eternal Marriage.  Except that my marriage has sucked for 25 years.  But I'm going to stand at the front of the classroom and use my best-fake-authentic-self to teach that lesson.  The principle is true -- regardless of whether I have proof that it works.


3.  I've been lied to so much over the years that I look at everyone with suspicion, especially LDS men.


4.  Some weeks (days) it seems I need a blessing every other hour (and that is me being patient).  Since my husband can't do that, I wonder how much the sister down the street would mind me calling her husband over every other hour -- to keep me from loosing it.


5.  I can't offer to help you because the day you need my help I might be in a fetal position on the floor of my shower stall while I empty the water heater and my eyes of all liquid.  


6.  I can't stand up on fast Sunday to bear testimony and mention how much I love my husband and am so grateful to know we will be together forever. 


7.  I can't publicly announce that my husband has just been excommunicated and for the next 14-28 months I'm going to be a wreck and have the Adversary's constant companionship even more so.


8.  We're taught to 'bear one another's burdens' in the church except that I can't EVER tell you what burden of mine I need you to shoulder.  It might cause gossip, or rat out my husband or something equally embarrassing or shameful.


9.  I can't call up the Relief Society president and tell her I need to be added to the compassionate service list because my kids haven't had a hot meal for two weeks due to my husband's recent relapse.  The only thing to eat in the house anyway is Oreos and Dorritos, neither of which are good served hot.  


10.  No one sits next to you in meetings since your husband has been inactive these last three years.  I think because you can smell "spouse of sex addict" on the wife  -- which is really disgusting for all sorts of reasons I won't go into now.


Unlike the more familiar top-ten lists, mine is in no particular order.  Each of them is really #1.  I also have tried to share these scenarios with a bit of humor, in spite of, how very real and familiar they are to me.  I hope more than anything there are those who have lovely stories of friends who have really been there for them.  

I learned a long, long time ago, that I don't go to church to see my friends or to feel accepted.  I go to church to worship my Heavenly Father and to enrich that relationship with him and the Savior.  Had I not been granted the wisdom of this blessing, I don't know how I would have survived 'the Church' and an addict husband.

I'm sure none of the sisters in my ward (or in any ward where this may happen) would ever be unkind to me if they really knew what my life had been like.  How could anyone, trying to live a Christ-like life judge or gossip about a wife who has been through the hell I have been through?  The problem is, no one knows, which leaves them to 'draw' their own conclusions (judge).


 This 'mission' I accepted in the pre-existence is NOT like your mom's cancer, or your brother's kids' autism, or the car accident that Sister Soandso's daughter was just in.  I know those are difficult conditions to go through -- but those typically work themselves out. Besides, on top of addiction, I've had some of those other trials too.  The truth is, sexual addiction is disgusting.  Its shameful.  Its embarrassing to talk about.  Its something we'd all rather pretend isn't plaguing society or our ward families more and more each year.  We like our collective ward's head in the sand rather than face reality and be real with each other.  Can't I just have a trial where my husband has trouble getting a job?  Because at least the ward might fast for me (maybe).

Don't feel sorry for me.  Feel badly for a society or culture that has allowed this kind of condition to exist.  I've learned to survive it.  I've learned to live in my private world and not let bitter eat me alive (though you probably doubt that reading this post).  This is my truth and it can be difficult to hear truth at times.  The up side is,  I know I will have learned from living it.  

Reaching out for support does not always yield the expected results.  I keep trying.  Yesterday I plead my case to my Relief Society president. It was a brave move on my part.  She is a new president, but I felt impressed to be open.  She came straight over after reading my e-mail.  She sat on my front porch and listen to me tell my story of being fake in a culture where I yearn to be genuine.  Even though we cannot fix this -- she heard me.  She gave up her time to listen and to love me in all my broken, friendlessness.  

Empathy is an amazing balm to the wounded soul.
















Wednesday, July 23, 2014

Dear Brethren: (With personal experiences now included)



*I'm on a mission.  I don't know where it will take me, if any where yet.  But I feel driven to see what I can do to help women I care about so very much.  This letter came out of my heart as effortlessly as anything I have ever written.  No blog post ever formed so well or so quickly.   I've prayed about this letter for more than a year and often laughed at myself for ever thinking I could undertake a project like this.  Maybe this letter will be nothing more than my purging and a sheet of paper given to my local SP.  Right now, I've prayed for the Lord to put  His hand on this and guide this to those who will act on it.  


Dear Brethren,

If you are reading this letter today, it is because someone is calling -- no pleading -- to you to hear the cries of the sisters.   These sisters are the tender wives and mothers of the kingdom.  If you continue to read this, please do so without the typical stereotypes or judgments that are often assigned to women of our day.  We are not crazy, emotional, or hormonal. We are hurt.  We have been injured, repeatedly by our husbands and then again, by men who hold the priesthood of God. 

I am reaching out to all who will listen, and I pray with every fiber of my being that you will hear with your heart.  I pray that you will see this concern, shared by so many of your sisters and respond as the Savior would. 

Mortality is messy.  Often the messes we face are the result of the choices of others.  General Authorities speak of these types of trials in General Conference frequently.  The mess I want to address today is that of sexual addiction.  Sexual addiction is not an issue isolated outside of the church.  Quite the contrary.  In fact, many of our brethren, your brethren, suffer from various types of sexual addiction.  Many fight it daily.  Many of these addicts are men who served missions and are now sealed in the temple to a wife who has been T-boned by this. 

Some of these men didn’t realize, initially, how badly they were addicted.  Often this is the case because a priesthood leader, in their attempt to love the sinner, made light of the initial few confessions, causing them to think what they have done ‘is not that bad.’

I want to go on record to tell each of your reading this plea today -- this IS that bad!  Please do not do that again, if you sit in a position to council our brothers.  Ask more questions.  I know this is a difficult spot for you to be in.  No one wants to come across voyeuristic in these discussions.  The Lord will help you as you help those within your stewardship.  In the wise words of one wife-of-a-porn-addict, “you cannot kill (or cure) addiction with kindness.”  Yes, the Savior is kind.  He stooped to write in the dirt when the adulteress was brought to him.  This is not the same.  You are dealing with an individual with a broken brain.  He does not process information the same as you, or anyone, not affected by addiction.

In this case, the old idiom applies; “You cannot really know a man until you’ve walked a mile in his shoes.”  You cannot really know the damage addiction causes the soul of a wife until you’ve walked a mile in her shoes.  Let me tell you, from personal experiences with both, I would rather pull thousands more of my miscarried babies from toilets than deal with another of my husband’s disclosures of being with another woman.

Brethren, please, if a sister comes to you in confidence, she does so bringing you her cannon ball shot up soul on a platter.  She needs your support.  She needs you to listen.  She needs you to think outside the box with her and help her find the solutions that will fit her individual needs.  Yes, she needs prayers and scriptures and the temple, but she needs so very much more than just those things. 

She does not need to be blown off or discounted.  You may think you “know” things about addiction, or porn.  You may ‘get’ how insidious this is.  Unless you have lived it, unless you have walked in her shoes, this is new, and fresh, and death to her, and you do NOT know!  Listen to the spirit with her, for her.  She needs the priesthood.  She needs to be loved and cared for just as her Savior would.  He is not here to hold her.  He expects you to fill that role for Him, with all the empathy and compassion He would offer her.  

If you are out of your element, and likely you will be, start researching addiction.  There is tons of help on the Internet.  Ask the wife what resources she has.  There is no weakness in not knowing.  It won’t tarnish your mantle. 

Above all, please, do everything in your power to not cause this sister to feel more shame and rejection than she already feels.  Please know, that she seeks you out because she trusts you.  Trust is a huge thing to a wife whose marriage has been violated and made a mockery of.  Dismissing her will damage her testimony.  You do not want that on your conscience. 

We are faithful Latter-day Saint women.  We understand and have a testimony of the gospel of Jesus Christ.  We know and understand the powerful gift of the Atonement.   The length of time our healing takes has nothing to do with a lack of an application of the Atonement.   It has to do with the depth of trauma this betrayal has caused us.  We love the scriptures and the temple too.  Please know, that while those practices are great foundational principles, we will need so much more than more of that to heal. 

So that you can get a sense of how serious this is, I am including at the end of my letter some of the feelings of these sisters of whom I speak.  These are their words, unedited and used with permission. 

We need your help.  Is your heart open enough to hear our cries?  



Wife #1's Experience:  Personally my Bishops talked to me very little, maybe having one meeting with my husband and I, and never bringing it up again. Which was fine for me at the time, because I thought we were 'good' now too. When he hit rock bottom and we 'got' that this was an addiction, I had a FANTASTIC Bishop in terms of support and nurturing of me (although, he did tell my husband he didn't need to go to 12 step, because he wasn't one of 'those addicts' :-)). He regularly checked in, and it was just nice to finally feel like I was a part of this and not just an after thought. The problem was once we got further into recovery, especially with Greg doing SA and LifeStar, it was like we lost 'street cred', 'cause we weren't doing the' Church' way of recovery. Even though he repeatedly told Greg he was the only person the Bishop was working with that had any kind of sobriety. But it like once we chose a 'non-traditional' path, we were outside of things and he was uncomfortable talking to us. Which was sad for us, because things were finally going SO well. We also felt like we had so much to share the more we were learning and growing. Anyway, since then we've gotten a new Bishop. We had a few conversations that went prety good (although, I could tell my discussion of things like boundaries and stuff made him very uncomfortable and I think they really started to turn him off to the topic of therapy.) Then I spoke in Stake Women's Conference. I didn't hear from him or the SP, but then when I started getting some pretty sad feedback from women in my Stake, and I emailed them some of my concerns and heartbreak (repeatedly saying I so admire these Bishops and all that they're doing, and the time they spent away from their families to help counsel and work with others, but if there was anyway we could help them or share with them our experiences, we were more than willing. I had resources to pass on if they were interested. I got a heartbreaking call from my Bishop, telling me him and my SP were concerned about my email and wanted to know what my 'motivations' were and what my 'intent' was, and to remember that I only had the women's side of the story and they're concerned with how much I just talk about the women in all this, forgetting that men are dealing with stuff too. (I added I am extremely compassionate to those trapped in addiction (heck, all my favorite men are addicts  ), but that I'm sharing the message of recovery to women because that's what I've been through. It was hard. I've felt distrusted and distance from them every since and it really hurts. Iv'e felt uncomfortable at Church, and even sometimes fantasizing about moving and 'starting fresh' . . . with people who don't see me as 'rogue' 

It's hard to put into words how profoundly this has negatively affected my relationship with my Bishop. He is such an amazingly kind and awesome person -- before this happened, he spent one morning outside talking to me while I was crying about my kids' medical issues and asking questions to clarifying questions through the whole first 15 minutes of Sacrament Meeting (that he was supposed to be conducting.) He asked how we were doing all the time. Since this all went down, the three times I've emailed him to tell him about our latest endoscopy and/or colonoscopy on the kids and the continued bad news we've gotten, he's never once emailed back, asked us how we are doing or stopped us in the halls to check in. . . I feel really, really cut off. And he is seriously once of the most compassionate Christlike people I know -- and that scares me. That me being a 'voice' in any of this can make me that outcast. That I could that quickly turn really good men against me, because I even tried to speak up. It does sometimes make me wonder how I fit into this Church in the long run. Will I always be an outsider, distrusted by leadership, if I speak up for the things I believe in, if I live authentically? ((And this was one email about concerns I had -- it's not like I shouted them from the rooftop or even brought them up in Sunday School or something.) Because this has hurt more than I could've imagined. And I don't know what comes next. I dont know if we should move, wait out a leadership change, keep our mouths shut . . . but we've learned so much. So much about recovery and the atonement and hope and peace and healing -- I want to share that. I just don't know how to do it without putting my family in an outcast role. It also hurts because I'm fairly convinced that if it had been my husabnd sharing the same concerns, it would've been taken differently -- that me as a woman rattled people more because I was a woman that pointed out that people were being hurt. I never once growing up thought there was anything about being a girl that made me any less or robbed me of any chances or opportunities -- until this -- I will always be an outsider when it comes to leadership. I will never be in a role to affect change. I can be the Creative Director of a nonprofit dealing with this issue, I can serve on the Advisory Board of UCAP, I can talk to women around the country going through this -- and I will always be able to be easily dismissed by some of my leaders because I'm not 'one of them' . . . (not that any of those things make me an expert or anything -- I just have heard a lot, I've talked to a lot of people, I've seen a lot of patterns, I could be useful to leaders who would use me. All I want is to spread the word of recovery and hope and healing. I could share that with Bishops or others, and maybe it would help someone else. I just feel like within the Church, I will be seen as a trouble maker or something if I share what I've learned if it conflicts at all with a leaders views on the same topics.)


Wife #2's Experience:  We had a bishop change in the middle of all my husband's latest acting out. My husband was inactive and had recently been disfellowshipped by the previous bishop. I asked to speck to new one (our current bishop) when he first took over.  He didn't even want to know what happened. When my husband came back to church (but was still acting out) he said this couldn't be better. The HP group was so glad to have him back. My bishop was my home teacher before they made him bishop. By agreement with the SP he kept my family to home teach, even though that isn't typically done. He did this because of the military connection with my husband. All this is fine, except that of course we rarely saw him. The only time he came over during any of the five separations this year (2014) was when I asked to have my home dedicated.  I don't think he even knew how many times I was separated.

When my husband came back this last time bearing "gifts" from all his sexual encounters, I begged for a blessing. For whatever reason it just never happened. My husband was excommunicated and not once did my bishop say a word to me. He hasn't been over to home teach. Last month my husband made at appointment to see the bishop, I asked to come along because I needed that blessing I never got.When I told bishop I was really struggling with all of this and needed help, he looked me dead in the eye with such an incredulous look and asked "why are you still struggling?" It was all I could do not to walk right out. 

This is the reason women have problems in the church. Empathy and compassion are so crucial to healing the destroyed heart and life of the addict's wife.

We may look on the outside like we have it all together, but most of the time we are one loose thread from crumbling.


Wife #3's Experience: I had a similar experience with the "one and done" conversations with my bishop, but the difference was, *I* knew we weren't good. So I kept making appointments, and telling him that I was at the brink, ready to leave my marriage, and... crickets. He didn't reach out to me. He didn't have the Relief Society presidency check on me. He didn't offer me a blessing. When my husband went to talk to him about something unrelated, my bishop lamented, "You shouldn't talk to your wife about disclosures. She has an anger problem." NOTHING supportive for three years, and after discovering how pervasive the problem was in our ward and not hearing a single lesson about it in the entire three years, I taught a lesson (I was supposed to be teaching about David and adultery, but I apply ALL of my lessons to present day applications), and people were SO upset and talking to the bishop about my "inappropriate" lesson, that he finally reached out to me. Not to check on me. Not out of concern for my well-being. But to scold me, and to make sure I never brought up the "p" word again. And told me that while he understood why I had personal reasons for wanting to discuss it at church, that our ward's resources need to be used elsewhere. Meanwhile, I have an addict husband, and both of my home teachers are addicts, so I have no direct access to a priesthood blessing if my husband relapses. Awesome. Thanks for caring so much about pornography.

And can we talk about the phrase, "feel like we are dying"? Because I know I literally felt like I was going to die. I had no idea how I was still alive. My heart was broken. And not, "Aw, man, they're out of my favorite kind of nail polish in the color I want!" heartbroken, but what that word truly means. Nothing has hurt more. The pain was so intense it was a shock and a disappointment when I woke up in the morning, every morning, for an entire year. I know I told my bishop I felt like I was dying. I told him I felt like I'd been stabbed, and I was bleeding, and everyone was walking past as if nothing was wrong. That was how intense, how devastating, the pain was. And I felt like my use of the term "dying" was treated like I was being dramatic. I was exaggerating. I wanted attention. Something. So I wonder if a lot of bishops/leaders/whomever hear that we're dying, and it's dismissed. But we are. Emotionally, spiritually, every way but physically. And it's shocking and frustrating that it isn't physically, because if we were physically wounded, THEN someone would care. They're obligated to, right? I can't go to the ER with my destroyed spirit, heart, and faith and get treated. But if I'm physically broken, then someone has to treat me. They HAVE to. No one expects an accident victim to suture themselves. Why are the broken women expected to also be their own surgeons and also save their marriages? The burden is unfair.











Monday, July 21, 2014

Can We Work This Out?

Growing up my mom was sick a lot.  She was often in the hospital and sometimes it was touch and go for her recovery.  It was frightening never knowing if things would be ok with her.  We'd be farmed out to church friend's homes to wait out her return to health.  I remember being scared, a lot.  The uncertainty was real for me.  The lack of understanding of what was really going on was also hard on my little girl soul.

My parents were a private couple.  They fought in the bedroom with the door closed.  (A lot of good it did.  I still heard.  I still saw mom come out weary and tear stained.)  They kept a lot of mom's sickness to themselves too.  Or maybe it just seemed that way to me.  Maybe my brother and sister knew, but my fears kept me wrapped up in my childhood bubble , from knowing and feeling.

As difficult as those times were, there are days I wish I could go back to that place of protection.  I'm no longer sheltered from the hard things,  from hurt.  I don't like it.  I want my bubble back.

My mom and dad are both gone now.   I miss them a lot on my hard days.  I miss them most when I don't want to be a grown up and wish I could just run away home to mom.  (Wait, that wasn't really the direction I used to run when I lived there -- more like away from home.  Oh we do grow up  -- eventually.)

Sometimes when I can't make sense of my life and I want to run, the only place I know to run to is home -- but that place is no more.  Those are the days I feel the most lost.  I long for those phone calls to mom asking her to help me figure out what to do.   I'm not sure she really knew when I did call, or if I even wanted to listen to her ideas, still those phone calls validated me and my pain.

I want to run away tonight.

D and H had a big bump this evening.  D didn't behave right and H was worse.  I only saw part of the tussle.  What I saw didn't lend credibility to H's side.   H wouldn't yield.  He wouldn't apologize.  He wouldn't believe what I said I saw.

I felt like I was talking to the addict again.

I felt like I was back in crazy town.

Before I knew about addiction, I used to try to explain to anyone who would listen that trying to talk to H was like trying to talk to an alcoholic's bottle.  I couldn't reason with it and it wouldn't make any sense if it talked to me.

It was like that again tonight.

H said I wasn't listening to him.

Why do they do that when you disagree with them?

I didn't always have the personal conviction to hold to my own beliefs, feelings, or boundaries.  I subscribed to some unspoken message that any conflict is contention and that was not a good thing to have in the home.  My disagreeing, to support my own position would be contrary to being that peacemaker I was supposed to be.

This has been such an issue to me that it is one of my personal boundaries:
2.  I have the right to my own personal opinions and beliefs.  I have the right to be able to state them in a safe environment without being ridiculed or negated.

I ran into a boundary breach tonight and opted to give myself some space and stay downstairs on the couch.

I'm concerned about little D.  I know she holds a lot of anger towards her dad.  I'm working with her, but I need more time.  H in his militant, black/white, type A personality wants her fixed now!  I just don't know how when the change is slow in him too.

We're all a mess right now.    All of us.  

My mom used to tell me that day 3 after surgery or after a procedure was the worst.  Maybe month 3 after such a horrible disclosure and such rampant acting out is the worst.  Maybe I'm in that middle pain threshold that if I just hold on -- this will pass.

On the other hand, maybe I'm still banging my head against that brick wall that will never budge.

I just wish Mom could tell me what to do right now.









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I don't have a lot of memory from my childhood.  I'm not sure why.  I've asked several therapists about it.  We've discussed options for raising some of those memories, but the fear of pain keeps me from going that deep.


The other night, during a talk H and I were having, I  had a memory come up from my buried and stuffed away past.  One given to me painfully by my dad.  I remembered my dad often calling me a 'quitter'.  His complaint was that I never finished anything.  I couldn't go back in my mind to find any evidence as to why my dad said that to me when I was a kid, but as H and I were talking,  I remembered the pain of that label.  I can see how that feeling, even though really buried, hurt and injured my choices as an adult.  (Maybe even causing me difficulty being able to end a really bad marriage.   But that's a different blog post than the one I'm working on today.)


The night I had this memory rush, H and I were talking about 'labels.'  H feels labeled all the time.  I realize that labels are destructive.  My memory is enough to make it a personal experience with the negative results of labeling people.


My position was more of an approach I learned years ago from Dr. Phil (Don't guffaw at me here -- he wasn't that bad in the beginning before he was after all the ratings.)  In his Life Strategies book he made this statement; "It all comes back to the life law statement, "You've got to name it before you can claim it." 


I aligned with that thought process.  It doesn't help you resolve issues you are in denial about.  I'm not attempting to call H out with disparaging words.  I'm attempting to find a solution to a problem we are struggling to own or name.

H is struggling with his with this label "addict". 

Ten counseling sessions later (with a CSAT).  

After finishing Out of the Shadows  by Patrick Carnes
After printing off and working through part of the Healing Through Christ manual.

And no matter how many times I asked him why he's done: 

 A....
 B....
 C....
  and
 D...


So I agreed to let go of the 'label' as he sees it and ask him for some suggestions on what approach we could take to help work through everything that has happened over the past 25 years.  What kind of therapy or medication or ??? could we use to help us recover?  


H maintains that he has an anger addiction.   We discussed medication.


I reminded him of some instruction we received from a previous therapist about anger.  People can be addicted to anger.


"The biochemicals secreted in the brain during the experience of anger — most notably the hor­mone, epinephrine and the neuro­transmitter, norepinephrine — are experienced much like an amphetamine and an analgesic. They give a surge of energy while they numb pain."



Anger is addictive...


But what about all the sexual encounters?

What about all the craigslist searches?
What about all the profiles on hook up sites?
What about all the sexting texts?
The porn?
The lies you told the women about your divorce...the lies you told me about never cheating...the blame-shifting/gaslighting accusations that I was the one having affairs and cheating....

Dead silence.........


Gah!  This is so hard.


I don't want to shame H.  Or be constantly reminding him of all his crimes.   Owning is a huge part of recovery, of repentance, of healing.  


After 25 years of all of this behavior, I feel we need to know what this is we are dealing with. 




Through the owning of our stories that do not shed the best light on us we still can recognize our value, and also the need to be and do better.   






If we lie to ourselves we block the pathways we need to be better.



Last night H attended his first local ARP meeting.  It must have gone well, because he came home in much different spirits than the worried and despairing one he left the house with.  


He told me, when he got back home,  that he'd shared his story and also the issues that he has with his sex addict label during the sharing portion of the meeting.  (I so love 12-step meetings.  Such an awesome feeling to be in a place where you aren't judged and you can share openly and safely.  I'm glad H went and was able have this experience.)  The group leader asked H to stay behind after the meeting.  


The GL talked about what it would be like to have serious open wound.  A wound that a doctor had given directions and medications to treat.  You wouldn't leave the wound alone or ignore it altogether.  And,  you wouldn't really care what the wound was really called (the knowledge is ok, but it doesn't change the need for treatment).   

  
I think H got it.

We'll likely still have the label discussion from time to time.  That's ok.  Each time we talk we get some progress out of it.