So Many Voices

I know--I haven't written for a long time.  I'm sure both of the people who read this blog are super broken up about it (insert snarky laugh here).  Fact is, I'm still not at liberty to share the full and complete truth of the struggles I'm dealing with in my marriage and life for the whole Internet to see (even if it is through a semi-anonymous blog that can pretty easily be traced back to me).

That time is coming, and I can feel that it is, but until then, it's hard for me to be truthful and vulnerable without being entirely truthful and vulnerable.  Holding oneself back during a confession is awkward.  It doesn't come naturally for me to write that way, and so it's been easier for me to just do my writing in a place that I know is completely safe and private until I can start sharing more details in a completely open way.

So I've been avoiding you.  Sorry about that.

But tonight, I felt driven to write on here--for the first time in months, I knew I needed to share my voice again.

I've been keeping my voice mainly to myself and a few people who know me in person--which I think is what I needed to do.

But tonight--tonight is about me sharing my voice.

Tonight started out rough.  Let's face it--since last Saturday, when my husband and I had a confrontation that ended up with me feeling completely crazy, there have been a lot of rough nights that have been numbed mainly through lots of ice cream and binge-watching "The Office."

Tonight started out no different--due to a perfect storm of too many panic-inducing influences to even begin to name, all converging on me tonight, I was feeling a LOT of fear and sadness and anger coming up, and it all just kind of took advantage of the fact that I was home alone with a messy house and threatened to completely overwhelm me.

And for a while, I nearly let it.

I stress-cleaned and over-thought and snapped at the kids and took a break to be a good mom and read/pray/sing with the kids before sending them to bed and shamed myself about the dust on my piano and the gunk in my sink and worried about whether my husband was mad at me and then started stress-cleaning again, trying not to panic with the thoughts that were coming towards me with the speed and intensity of so many semi trucks barreling towards me at 115 miles per hour.

I called my sponsor--she didn't answer, but texted back to let me know that she was with family (Duh--I'm pretty sure I'm the only person in the country not with family on the night before Thanksgiving), and I felt inspired to text her back and let her know that I was feeling some fear and anxiety, but would work through it on my own.

I was surprised by my own answer--usually when I'm having such a panic attack, I feel drawn to call someone to help me through it, but tonight, I was feeling pulled in a completely different direction.

I have had so many voices in my life lately--Facebook voices, blog voices, family voices, friend voices, support group voices, loud voices, angry voices, quiet voices, shameful voices, peaceful voices, all of them from time to time helping me, hurting me, telling me what to do and what not to do, and while I know that my sponsor and several other members of my support system (including my husband at times), have been inspired of God before, tonight, I could feel Him telling me that He didn't want me listening to any other voices.  He wanted tonight to be about Him and me (and, apparently, you).

So, I let Him know that I wanted to finish cleaning/packing (we have an early morning tomorrow), and He patiently waited until I was done.  Then, after I finally stopped rushing around like a chicken with its head cut off and put down my to-do list, I listened while He spoke to me.

"Do some yoga," He said.  "On your own.  Don't use a video.  I want you listening only to your voice and My voice, not to the voice of an instructor."

So, I slathered myself in my essential oils that help me calm down, turned on a relaxing music station on my phone, and started a yoga workout.

He stopped me.  "Turn off the music.  I want you listening only to your voice and My voice, not the voices of whoever is singing."

So I did.  I turned off the music, took off my glasses so I wouldn't be appalled by the ridiculous amounts of dog hair embedded in my bedroom carpet (being legally blind has its perks), and started moving from pose to pose as I felt my body and my instinct telling me what I needed--Sun Salutation, Warrior Pose, Child's Pose, Happy Baby.

As I did so, I could feel myself calming, my instinct taking over and the voices of fear, guilt, shame, anger, bitterness--quieting in the background as I listened to myself breathing, moving, thinking.

At the end, Heavenly Father told me, "Now.  Be still."

So I was.  I was still, lying in Savasana, on my back, hands open to receive the revelation and knowledge my Heavenly Father wanted to give me, when thoughts started coming to my mind, unbidden and powerful in their truth.

"I am strong.

I am inspired.

I am beautiful.

I am enough.

I am enough!

I AM ENOUGH."

Of all the truths and voices and statements out there, that is the one that I needed to feel, hear, and know and that I feel compelled to share with you.  I am enough.  YOU are enough.  If you're reading this, that's God's number one message for you tonight.

Don't listen to the voices that tell you otherwise--that you need to be thinner, prettier, a better housekeeper/mother/wife/cook/runner/visiting teacher/crafter/seamstress/family historian.

You--as you are--are enough.

And so am I.

But if Not

Faith is such an interesting topic to me.

As I've been trying to pull myself out of the depression, bitterness and anger I spent this summer feeling, I've been studying a lot about faith and gratitude.  The interesting thing about faith is that we often hear about faith producing miracles--sickness and injuries healing, peoples' hearts changing, finding jobs when it seemed impossible, etc., etc... but for me, one of the most fascinating examples of faith is the one of Amulek.

In Alma 14 (you might recall this story), Alma and Amulek have been teaching among the people of Ammonihah.  While they were able to have some success among the poorer class of people, they hadn't had any with the wealthier people; at this point in the story, the judges and lawyers have taken the believers and driven out the men with stones, and then thrown the women and children into a fire, which they forced Alma and Amulek to watch.

If you'll recall, this is Amulek's home, so many of these believers are probably people he knew--neighbors, cousins, friends; so, as it says in verse 9, it says that when he "saw the pains of the women and children who were consuming in the fire, he also was pained;" At this point, he had the faith to turn to Alma, someone he KNEW as a prophet of God, and ask, "How can we witness this awful scene?  Therefore let us stretch forth our hands, and exercise the power of God which is in us, and save them from the flames."

I want to point out that he did the right thing here!  His request wasn't a wrong one or a bad one--He exercised faith and turned to the prophet and asked him to use the power of the priesthood for this admirable cause--to save these innocent people from suffering at the hands of wicked men...but Alma's answer wasn't the one he wanted to hear; in verse 11, Alma responds: "The Spirit constraineth me that I must not stretch forth mine hand;" and explains why--that the blood of the innocent must stand as a witness against the wicked.

If I were Amulek and I were in that place, I would probably be angry.  WHAT?  How is asking for such a good and worthy thing in any way wrong?  I would have my doubts--how could a prophet of the God of Love sit by and coldheartedly view such a scene without using the power he has to change the outcome?

But Amulek's response inspires me.  After asking if they, too, will be required to sacrifice their lives (in itself another show of faith), Alma answers in verse 13, "Be it according to the will of the Lord.  But behold, our work is not finished; therefore they burn us not."

After going through more torment and finally receiving the miracle to deliver themselves three days after the martyrdom of the people Amulek loved, Alma and Amulek are freed, and in chapter 15, verse 18, it says that Alma "took Amulek...to his own house, and did administer unto him in his tribulations, and strengthened him in the Lord."

Later on, Alma and Amulek went on to serve many more missions and have many other miraculous experiences together, showing to me that Amulek, despite this HUGE trial of his faith, continued faithful until the end of his story.

So many times in my life, I feel as though I'm pleading for good things--worthy things--honorable things.  I want nothing more than my friends who are struggling with infertility to be able to have children; for my brother who has been unemployed for years to find a job; for my father who has struggled with pornography issues for more than 40 years to be able to overcome his addictions; for my marriage with my husband to be a celestial marriage full of trust and honesty; for my sister who is doubting her testimony and acting out in rebellion against our family to gain a testimony and have a desire to choose the path that will truly bring her happiness.

And as I've spent time on my knees in prayer, crying to the Lord in supplication for these and other blessings that I desire with all of my heart, I've had experience after experience where the answer hasn't been the one that I've wanted.  People have gone on as before, and on the surface, everything seems unchanged in many of these situations.

But--over this journey I've been taking to try to truly trust in God, I've learned that I desire to cultivate faith like Amulek.  I want to have the faith to trust not only in the Lord's power to cause miracles, but also in His wisdom to let burdens go unlifted and trials to go unchanged.  I want to truly be able to say, with Shadrach, Meshach, and Abed-nego, "If it be so, our God whom we serve is able to deliver us...But if not...we will not serve (other) gods."  (Dan. 3:17-18)

I want for my husband to be faithful and true to his covenants.  But if not, I will remain faithful and true to mine.

I want for my father to overcome his addictions and give my mother the honesty she deserves.  But if not, I will work to overcome my own imperfections.

I want for God to make his hand known in the lives of my family.  But if not, I will still look for and acknowledge His hand in my life.

I want to be happy in my marriage.  But if not, I will learn to be happy on my own.

As I'm learning to cultivate this trust in God, I'm seeing a difference--perhaps not in my outward situations, but definitely in my inward heart.  The situations around me may or may not be changing, but I am changing.  I am becoming more peaceful, more focused on what I can and should work to change, and more able to let go of things outside my control.  I am becoming closer to my Heavenly Father, and, I hope, becoming more like Him in my capacity to feel, to endure, and to love.

Have any of you had times where unanswered prayers have turned to your good?

Clean Out Your Own Fridge

Yesterday, I happened to look at my bank accounts.  I wasn't trying to snoop on my husband (that's happened before, but it wasn't the motivation this time), I had a deposit to make--but--I happened to see how much he had been spending on junk food in the past little while.  I added up all the expenses just from the weekend, and although I won't tell you the grand total, I will tell you that it totaled up to roughly one fourth of our entire month's food budget.

You know that scene when a cartoon character gets mad or freaks out and their head turns red and steam comes out of their ears while a train whistle sounds?  That's about how I felt.

I felt furious, terrified, unsafe, and angry, to say the least.  I texted my sponsor and let her know what was going on, and then I started panicking....and the thoughts started multiplying.  I can't be married to a guy who does this kind of thing.  When I'm scrimping and saving just to get by, he goes out to eat for every single meal!  It shows what an addict he really is, to behave so selfishly.  I should go in and wake him up and tell him just what I think and let him really have it!  It's not fair!  I didn't sign up for this!

Etc, etc, etc.

Thankfully, I didn't actually act on my panic (other than digging through my husband's car for junk food and devouring as much as I could handle in five minutes, that is).  I remembered, just in time, what I've been learning in my 12 steps, and so I tried to act on Step One and turn it over to God.  I went into the front room, knelt by my couch, and poured my heart out to my wise and oh-so-loving Heavenly Father.

"Father, I'm SO mad.  I'm scared and mad and furious that my husband would spend so much money on junk food when we're trying so hard to get by.  I'm afraid of what this behavior means and I don't know what to do.  I want to wake him up and yell at him--I'm panicking right now--"

Then I got to the important part: "What would Thou have me do?"

The thought came to my mind, clear as day, and completely unexpected: "Clean out the fridge."

I was surprised.  I'd had clean the fridge on my to-do list for days weeks months now (it was really disgusting), but at a time like this?  I was sure my answer would be something like "Write a rant on your blog" or "Sit and read the scriptures" or "call someone and vent to them," but something as prosaic and, I don't know--non-spiritual--as "clean the fridge?"

So I asked again.  "Are you sure?"

And the answer came again, this time with a little clarification: "Clean out the fridge and tally up the amount of food you've wasted by not being more organized."

Ah.

I understood.  It's so easy to point out all of the things my husband does wrong. I've been doing that for months now--and the awareness of his behaviors had to be a part of my healing, yes.  But part of being meek, part of healing--part of becoming like the Savior, in fact--is learning how to focus on my own fridge.  Focusing on my own responsibilities.  Focusing on my own stewardship and not worrying so much about what other people out of my control--my husband, in this case--are doing.

So, I cleaned out my fridge, I estimated and wrote down a total price on the worth of the food I had let go bad by not using a menu or checking my fridge before buying/making food, and even though it wasn't near the same amount my husband had spent, the lesson had been taught.  I was humbled to realize that even though Heavenly Father has been patient with me and what I've let go as I've tried to survive this rocky past few months, even though He loves me no matter what and has let me know that in a multitude of ways, He still expects me to be patient, meek, and humble.  And once in a while, the only way He can get me to be that way is by forcing me to look in my own fridge.

"None is acceptable before God, save the meek and lowly in heart."  ~Moroni 7:44

After my husband woke up that evening, I was able to approach him--in a humble, meek way, rather than the accusatory one I had planned earlier that day, and let him know that we had a problem.  I told him the ways I was planning on doing better, and then I asked him to give me his debit card and start using a cash allowance (a boundary we had decided months ago to help with his shopping habits and discontinued).

I do feel the need to enforce boundaries with my husband; those boundaries are what keep me safe and us out of debt--however, I don't have to do so in anger or self-righteous judgment.  All I have to do is remember that fridge full of moldy, disgusting food, and it reminds me:

Clean out your own fridge first.

Distractions

Tonight, as I sat after dinner, pounding away on the piano and trying to do something--anything--to kill time/keep my mind occupied, my 5-year-old came and laid his hand on my arm.

"Mom, I think it's time you should come play with us."  He said it softly, kindly, without the whiny tone that usually accompanies this kind of request, and for once, I actually listened to my child.  I didn't finish my song, I didn't shrug him off--I listened and followed him.

We ended up turning off all the lights in the house, taking a lit candle into the kids' room, and telling funny stories--some true, some not, but with just the four of us, all gathered around our mini campfire and listening.

It was wonderful.  After the kids went to bed (amazingly easily and early for this lot), I started getting busy--distracted--again.  I found myself checking my phone far too often, I did the dishes, I painted a shelf, I watched some TV (although I chose some uplifting shows rather than the often-inappropriate shows I tend to choose when wanting to numb myself), and then, after exhausting every other numbing technique I usually use, I finally decided to get out my 12-Steps pamphlet.

I've been stuck on Step 9--making amends--for a while now.  I had a hard time finding the difference between making amends and going back into doormat mode, which was hard for me.  For so long, I've allowed myself to be treated like a doormat by people in my life because I thought it was the "charitable" thing to do, and so going to people and finding ways to make amends for ways I might have harmed them was hard for me to do without automatically going to guilt mode.  By the time I finished with all the amends needed on my very-long list, I was so emotionally and spiritually spent that I just decided to stay away from the 12 Steps for a while and focus instead on just the absolute, bare-bones basics of my spiritual survival.

It was just too hard for a while.  Recovery, group, all of it--was TOO HARD.  And so I went into survival mode, where I just depended on God alone, with only the scriptures and prayer to keep me close to him....spiritual crackers and water.

It's been a few weeks now since I've read Recovery, and I've been feeling for a couple of days now that I needed to open my pamphlet again--that I would be ready for it and blessed if I did.  So, after all the stalling techniques that I mentioned, when I finally started studying about and working on Step 10--oh, it was like a breath of fresh air.  As I read the questions in Step 10 asking about being present and staying accountable, my mind flew to tonight's experience.

As humans, we don't want to feel pain.  It's a natural survival instinct to want to numb pain, and for me, oh, the past few months have been nothing but pain.  And so naturally, I've taken to numbing that pain.  Facebook, emails, TV, reading blogs, staying busybusybusy, EATING--these have all been techniques I've found myself turning to, sometimes unwillingly, but always turning to.  And this has given me so very much compassion for addicts whose addictions aren't the kind that allow you to stay temple-worthy...as I look at the clock in disgust after realizing that I've wasted hours on Facebook when I should have been sleeping...I understand the shame that comes from that.

And so tonight--tonight is a fresh start yet again.  Tonight, I went without distractions for a couple of hours with my children, and those two hours were blissful.  The ability to be present is a gift, and I hope to seek that gift more often as I once again recommit to being accountable, being present, and being thankful for progress rather than shaming myself over imperfection.

Not Fair

I remember the first time I thought, "I could marry that guy."

My then-future husband and I had been dating for a couple of weeks at the time; I had really liked his fun personality, sharp wit, and good looks, but I had definitely gone into the relationship thinking that it was going to be a fleeting thing.  After all, I was due to leave on a mission in four months and he was planning on moving after the semester ended.

However, as a friend of mine (who was admittedly a little odd) approached me and asked me if I would ask my boyfriend to give her a Priesthood blessing, I watched my boyfriend's reaction as she asked him.  He was gentle and kind, despite her rather bizarre antics, and graciously agreed to find someone else to help him give her a blessing.

The blessing was beautiful--he blessed her with health, comfort, and a host of other very personal things that I'm sure were quite a strength to her.  And that was when I realized--I could marry this guy.  He is something special.

My relationship with God has always been a priority for me in my life, and so when I think about it, it should come as no surprise that the first time I was willing to commit to my future husband was when I saw him in such a spiritually powerful way.

As I left on my mission and read the letters he wrote to me, I was even more attracted to that side of him as he sent me letters that described temple attendance, service in the church, and scripture study--all in a humble, matter-of-fact way that alone bore testimony of simple but powerful habits cultivated over a long period of time.

Once I got home from my mission, we were engaged and married shortly afterwards, and from the first, I was surprised to see that his spiritual habits were nothing like what I'd expected them to be.  We'd sit in bed for hours at night together, me wanting and hoping for him to lead us in couples prayer before we fell asleep, and him knowing that I wanted him to lead out and stubbornly refusing to do it--this awful, silent, passive-aggressive struggle.  Every single night, after waiting uncomfortably and stalling for hours at a time, I would end up being the one to give in and ask if he wanted to pray.  To his credit, he always said yes, but it was rare, if ever, that he brought it up on his own.

This one particular example seemed to be his attitude towards a lot of spiritual things throughout our marriage; if I wanted something church-oriented or spiritual to happen in our family, I either had to remind/ask him about it, or it didn't happen, whether it be home teaching, scripture study, Family Home Evenings, or temple attendance.

This is not fair.  It's not what I signed up for--the very thing that made me most attracted to my husband was his spirituality, and to see him now, sleeping through church and forgetting or not caring about the majority of his church service--it makes me terrified, actually.  Why would someone so strong choose to change so much?

My mom often talks about "campaign promises," you know, someone's behavior before marriage becoming something completely different after the rings are on, but I don't think he was faking it when he married me.  I genuinely think he had a strong, close relationship with his Heavenly Father at the time; and to hear the stories he tells from his mission, I know he has had a testimony in the past.  And I think he still has remnants of a testimony--when I asked him about it in tears a week ago, telling him of my deepest fears that we had different priorities and were going in different directions, he insisted he knew the truth--of God's reality and the power of the Atonement.  Once in a while he'll volunteer a story about following the Spirit, but those stories are few and far between.  And it's been years since I've heard him bear testimony without being prompted.

I know I sound judgmental.  I probably also sound immature and hypercritical, which I guess I am.  It's true that I shouldn't pass judgment on my husband's spirituality; a person's relationship with God isn't something that can be accurately determined from outside actions, no matter how closely watched.

It's just hard to believe that my husband is putting God first when I don't see much evidence in his life, I guess.

Trust Thou In God...and Thyself

Lately, I've been getting a message from my Heavenly Father, over and over and over again: "Trust Me."

It's actually pretty simple, until you start getting messages from friends, family, spouses, and random people on the internet that drown out the sweet, quiet messages Heavenly Father gives.  Luckily, He loves me a whole lot, so he's put this message on repeat for me, first through a poem that my friend shared, then through promptings as I prayed or spoke or acted, and finally, yesterday, it was pretty blatant--in Sunday School, the teacher read a quote that brought tears to my eyes.

"When we put God first, all other things fall into their proper place or drop out of our lives.  Our love of the Lord will govern the claims for our affection, the demands on our time, the interests we pursue, and the order of our priorities." ~Ezra Taft Benson.

God wants me to put Him first, and when I do, He gives me peace.

Yesterday, I found out that my mother-in-law is coming up to visit and will be staying with us for four days.  I'll tell the truth--I love my mother-in-law, but she is best in small doses, and when I'm emotionally fragile already, I genuinely don't know if I can handle her.  Four days is not a small dose, and when I heard how long she'd be staying (and that she was staying in our home), I panicked a bit.  I did some stress-cleaning this morning (and the kids' rooms are now spotless, as is the guest bathroom), but this afternoon, I felt prompted to take some self-care time.  I colored, I ate lunch (something I skip on far too often), and now I'm writing...and I don't plan to clean anymore today.

There's still a massive pile of laundry to be washed, the kitchen floor is still sticky, and I haven't dusted my front room in weeks...and those are all things that are mighty important to my mother-in-law, but I don't need to do them just now.  And that's okay.

It will be okay.  I will be okay.  I just have to trust in God.

The Human Experience

Lately, I've been reading in Mormon (you know, from the Book of Mormon), a part of the BoM that's usually pretty depressing/pointless for me.  If you haven't read this book (I highly recommend you do--it's very good), this is the part where the Nephites (the main people in the book) all fall away from the truth and get destroyed.  It's sad and depressing and very dark, and when I'm usually in my sunshine-y phase of life, I tend to kind of skim over it without getting much out of it other than the message to stay strong like Mormon (the prophet at the time) did, and that's about it.

However, today, I was reading Mormon's lament, where he talks about the mourning and the sorrow he's experienced as the Nephites continue in their wickedness, and I was touched.

It's okay to be sad.  It's okay to have sorrow when people you love aren't choosing what you'd like for them to choose.  It's okay that I'm sad that my husband doesn't have much of a relationship with God; it's okay that it breaks my heart that my sister is rebelling; it's okay that I'm mourning the fact that my dad is an addict who has put his marriage in jeopardy....experiencing this heartbreak and sorrow and sadness doesn't make me bad, unhealthy, or even necessarily codependent.  It makes me human.  It makes me compassionate.  Mormon was a prophet, for crying out loud, and yet he genuinely sorrowed and mourned the downfall of his people.

However, when I start to worry or fix or try to rescue or plan for these people in my life--THAT'S where the unhealthiness comes in.  Mormon agreed to be a general over the Nephite armies twice--once in his younger years, and then again when they begged him to come back; but he didn't take responsibility for their choices, and when he was allowed to preach, he did so knowing that they weren't going to change....and the entire time he is writing about his sorrow, he continues to use phrases that show that he still trusts God and HIS plan, despite the pain he is experiencing.

That's what I'm wanting and trying to do.  It's okay for me to feel pain, sorrow, hurt, and even abandonment and trauma.  That's part of my human experience and part of God's plan for me....and I'm not weak or deficient in some way for feeling these things.  But I have to trust God through all of it.  That's the part that can be hard, but it's the part I'm gaining the most from.

Anyways.  Just a thought. 

I'm NOT Crazy...Right?

I hate it when I have conversations with people where I end up feeling like I'm going crazy.

My husband is one of the culprits, but I've had these kinds of conversations with several people lately.  Conversations with people who say things like, "Well, at least..." or "Have you thought about going on antidepressants?"  or "Maybe it would help if you just tried cleaning the house/showering/exercising/fill-in-the-blank-here-with-something-I-already-feel-guilty-for-not-doing-enough."

Any time I have a conversation like that with someone, it leaves me wanting to scream.  And I usually go into my room and cry in my pillow and talk to God and ask Him if I'm crazy, if I should go on antidepressants, if I should just suck it up and fake it till I make it.

And usually, God tells me that as long as I focus on Him, I'm doing exactly what He wants me to do.

In fact, the other night during a conversation with God, He let me know that I was enough.  That I'm doing enough, that I'm trying enough, and that I'm handling enough.  That was helpful, let me tell you.

And then the next day I had another person tell me something that once again made me feel crazy.

I called my sponsor the other day after one of these crazy-making conversations, and she said something that helped me so very much that I thought I'd share it with you:

"Right now, you are doing the hard stuff.  It would be so much easier to go back into denial, pretend this stuff isn't happening, and clean your house, stay busy, and numb yourself until it's over.  This is much harder than cleaning your house and putting makeup on would be."

I'm not being lazy.  I'm not being dramatic.  And I'm NOT crazy.  I am a human with human frailties and weaknesses dealing with some pretty intense burdens right now.  And for me to focus on the priorities that really, truly matter--well, it means my floor isn't getting mopped for a while, I'll tell you that.  

But it does mean that I'm seeking--truly seeking--to do exactly what my Heavenly Father wants me to do, on a daily, hourly, sometimes minute-by-minute basis.  And, surprisingly enough, sticky floors aren't nearly as important to Him as they seem to be to other people.

You're Not Alone

I hate hate HATE feeling alone.

Things that make me feel alone sometimes:

*Being the only person (out of the 6 people who live here) to notice when the dog needs fed or the trash needs taken out.

*Being surrounded by dozens other people but being the only person to change 5 poopy accidents IN A ROW (anyone who has ever had three non-potty-trained children at the same time understands this).

*Having a husband who works nights and sleeps during the day, or who is gone the majority of the time.

*Not being allowed to talk to anyone about my husband's main disclosures (although I've set a date for him to meet with a counselor about his issues--if he doesn't meet that date, I'm going by myself.  One more week 'till I can TALK about this with someone).

Obviously, this last one is the most significant cause of these feelings of isolation--the rest are all symptomatic, and when I'm doing well and feeling strong and happy, I happily feed the dog, change diapers, and do all of the mundane tasks that trigger me to the point of total panic when I'm not doing well or feeling strong and happy.

Before my husband's disclosure, before I knew just what was going on, before I had even started Recovery, I was having a very alone night.  Husband was off in LA for a school trip, I was home with three very sick kids, and I was unsuccessfully trying to turn my brain off so I could go to sleep.  I decided to read my dear friend's blog (you should read it.  You'll thank me), and suddenly, through her words, I started to think things like, "She's felt this way before?" and "That's exactly how I feel!"

And I started to feel not quite so alone--as if there were people elsewhere who had been through what I had been through and who had felt the same way I was feeling.

The other day, my brother called me and was complimenting me on my latest funny blog post on my family blog.  "I'm glad you're posting funny things again," he said--"For a while there, you were posting a lot of deeper, more serious stuff, and it was getting really hard to read.  I like the funny stuff better."

While I appreciated my brother's well-meaning comment, it stung a little to think that he didn't want to hear the dark stuff....the things that I try to write in the name of being "real" on my other blog (and believe me, that stuff is still highly filtered compared to this blog).  It once again made me feel alone--as though no one wanted to hear about my issues or my problems.  I began to worry that people wouldn't like what I have to write, and even began to second guess whether or not I should share these things at all.

So, I avoided this blog for a little while, focusing instead on writing my bright, shiny, happy things on my other blog, and sticking to expressing myself in my prayers and in my journal.

But you know what?  I am sharing my experience in hopes that I can do for someone else what my friend's blog did for me.  And whether or not it is fun or entertaining, what I am writing is the truth of what I have experienced and what I am trying to learn from it.

So, if you've ever felt angry or alone or hurt or betrayed, just know--you're not alone.  

And sometimes, that's all I need to hear.  How about you?

Alone

I am so tired of being tired.

I feel tired ALL the time.  When I went to the doctor a while back with symptoms of some heart problems, a part of me (that wasn't quite as little as it should have been, perhaps) hoped that he'd let me know that I had a Serious Condition--one that either required surgery or lots of sleeping and laying down in bed, just so I'd have an excuse to sleep all the time and not have to do anything hard.

Even still, every time it comes up to that Time of the Month, I secretly sorta kinda wish that I might be pregnant; not that having a baby would be a good thing right now (I personally think it would be better to bring a baby into a healthy marriage to a healthy momma, something I don't feel that I am right now), but just so that I would have morning sickness as an excuse to feel miserable and not do anything extra.

I hate the fact that I'm so unmotivated.  I'm usually an incredibly motivated person--heck, I ran a marathon, for crying out loud!--but that part of me seems to have shriveled up and died, perhaps surviving just enough to feebly surface long enough for me to start a project or two, but then diving back down into the depths of despair in time to leave me with half-finished projects lying around the cluttered, messy house, while my neglected children run around with unwashed faces and half-eaten peanut butter and jelly sandwiches clenched in their fists.

I want to feel energetic.  I want to wake up and feel ready for the day.  I want to do yoga, to run, to go on walks and do fun activities with my kids (although in my defense, I did teach them how to play hopscotch this morning), I want to feel proud of my clean house and folded laundry when it happens, rather than resentful of the fact that I have to clean it at all.  I want to stop escaping into Facebook, email, and my husband's iPad because I just don't have the energy to think about things. 

I've been trying to reach out--I really have.  And that's why I'm on here, because even if there is only one other person in the entire world reading it, at least I'm reaching out.

But I still feel SO Alone.

And I don't have the energy to change that feeling right now, so I'm just going to wallow in my Aloneness for a little bit, take a nap, and then see if I have the energy to reach out in a more productive way than sharing my whining thoughts on the Internet for everyone to see.

The Details of our Lives

President Thomas S. Monson once said, "Heavenly Father is in the details of our lives."
I have never been more aware of that fact than at this time.
He is with me when I wake.
He is with me as I teach my children, as I play with them, as I watch them.
He was with me this weekend when I fielded trigger after trigger with peace and serenity as I could literally feel the prayers of my sponsor and my mom lifting me through three solid days with my husband's family (usually trigger central for me).
He is with me as I deal with the grief of losing someone while trying to maintain boundaries with my husband.
He is with my family members and friends--the ones I worry about and lose sleep over and shed tears for while praying on my knees.
He is in the details.
And I have been noticing.
My heart is full.

Screaming

My husband's grandpa passed away this Sunday.

He got a call at 6:00 that morning--it was his mom: "Come quick, Grandpa's had an aneurysm."

We jumped out of bed, got dressed in a hurry, somehow arranged for wonderful people to take care of our kids, then drove the four hours it took us to get to the hospital Grandpa was located in (it's nothing short of a miracle that I didn't get a ticket--I didn't drive less than 20 mph above the speed limit the entire way down), and then, the trauma started.

From the moment my husband answered the phone, he locked down.  

Put up a wall.  

Shut down completely.  

Went into his survival mode where the only person he can even think about is himself and all of the crazy emotions he was going through as the man who helped raise him, the one responsible for the most positive experiences he had in his childhood, passed away in front of our eyes.

Only it wasn't that fast.  We got there at nine that morning and Grandpa didn't pass till 11:00 that night.

And for that entire day, I was completely, absolutely, infinitely alone, surrounded by a family who "just doesn't talk about things" and sitting next to a man who was so wrapped up in his own pain that he couldn't even begin to recognize, much less respond to mine.

Have you ever seen someone die?  

It's nothing like in the movies--in fact, I've heard it described as similar to going through labor.  It takes work and pain to bring life into the world, and it takes work and pain to leave it.

And as a family, we sat and watched that experience together, only we weren't really together.  Not really.

I kept trying to reach out to the husband--take his hand, put my arm around him, hug him, talk to him, and every. single. time I reached out, he shut me down.

Rejected me.

Ignored me.

Pulled away.

The wall--a wall made of  ice, thick, cold, and completely impenetrable--was up.  And although I was screaming on the other side of that wall, beating the wall with my fists until they were raw and bleeding, begging him to let me in, he couldn't--wouldn't--hear me or let me in.

After all, he was in survival mode.

Finally, after hours of sitting in a room where the air was thick with the feeling of death next to a man who couldn't care less whether I was there or not, I left.  I didn't say a word, I just got up and walked outside and found a place to sit where I let myself FEEL.  I screamed, I cried, I called my sponsor and left a completely incoherent message on her voice mail, and then I prayed.

I told God how angry I was with my husband, the guilt I felt about making his grandpa's death all about me, the shame I felt for feeling so much pain at the loss of my husband's support, and I asked Him to take all of the selfish things I was feeling away from me.

I tried to surrender, I really did.  I tried to use the Atonement, and I really did feel a little peace.

But then I walked back into the building only to find out that grandpa had passed while I was outside feeling sorry for myself, and then I lost it.  I stormily broke down in a corner of the room, wishing I could somehow hide, sobbing and crying as my shoulders shook with the pain of losing another grandparent (one I had considered as good as my own from the time we met 8 years ago), the guilt for being so selfish as to not be there for the actual passing, and the shame of crying so violently in front of a family who just doesn't do that kind of thing.  Grandma came and awkwardly patted my shoulder, then asked my husband to pray that we could all get through this with dignity as I tried to subtly wipe my snotty nose and swollen eyes with the completely saturated handful of Kleenex I was gripping with all my might.

I hate the fact that I'm an ugly crier.

And my husband sat across the room, completely oblivious to my pain, so wrapped up in his own that he couldn't think of trying to share his burden with me or even recognizing that I needed him to need me.  As I glanced around the room and saw his brother weeping into his wife's arms and my father-in-law gripping my mother-in-law's hand, I realized that something was very wrong with the fact that my husband and I were across the room from each other and he didn't even seem to care whether I was there or not.

Am I crazy to be so hurt by this?

When I brought it up to him on the four-hour drive home yesterday, he listened, apologized, then defended himself.  "I was just doing what worked.  I had to get through it, and I did.  Just because it's different than how you want me to deal with it, doesn't mean it's necessarily wrong.  It's just different, and it worked for me--I didn't completely fall apart."

But I did.

I completely fell apart.

And I have no idea how to get myself put back together enough to deal with the funeral this Friday.

No idea.

Competition vs. Compassion

I still remember the first time I realized that I was a competitive person--on my mission, my first companion was a physical education major from BYU who was always just seconds faster than me on all of our morning runs.  I was straight from a schedule of lots of eating and lots of sitting at the MTC, and so as we ran together for the six weeks we were companions, I got increasingly frustrated at always being 15 to 20 yards behind her the whole time we ran.
As we had a companionship inventory at one point, I brought up the frustration that her fast running was causing me.  "I'm not competitive," I started, and she started to laugh.
"Sister, you say you're not competitive, but you're the only companion I've ever had who got the least bit irritated with how fast I run.  I'd say you're pretty darn competitive!"  She seemed to find it humorous, and after some prayer and soul-searching, I noticed that what I had always denied about myself was actually true.
I am competitive.
I have a tendency to compare myself--for better or for worse--to the people around me.
I even get cranky when I get schooled in board games, which is a big reason my husband and I can't play card games together.  He always wins.
Problem is, competition, or even its close cousin, contention, is not of God.  In fact, Christ said it pretty succinctly when He said that "he that hath the spirit of contention is not of me, but is of the devil..."
As I sent my list o' forgiveness to my sponsor, she called me with an incredible insight that I completely missed--I have a tendency to compare myself to all of the people on my list.  Every single one of those people I saw through a lens of competition rather than compassion, especially the two that I'm having the most difficulty with forgiving.
I resent their selfishness.
I resent their immaturity.
I resent their lack of compassion towards me and towards my loved ones.
And I do feel tempted to feel superior towards them.
However, that's not a freeing way to feel--that's not the way Christ would have me feel towards them, and so that's where praying for charity and true forgiveness comes in.  I can't force forgiveness, any more than I can force an answer from the Spirit, but I can and will continue to have a desire to forgive these two family members--to feel that free gift of charity that "he hath bestowed upon all who are true followers of his Son, Jesus Christ," a definition I absolutely desire would describe me.
Today, I got the impression this morning to send some sort of message to the two family members that I'm struggling with, so I sent a snapchat to one, and a text to another, letting them know that I hoped that they had a good day today, and I genuinely meant it.
It's not a big deal--I couldn't do any more than that for now, but it's a start.  It's a start.

Ohhhh, the Irony

Sometimes, Heavenly Father whispers to me.  He nudges, He caresses, and then He waits until I'm willing to listen.
Other times, He shouts.  Today was one of those days.
This week, I started working on Step 8, you know, the one where you're supposed to become prepared to make amends to people that you've hurt?
Only problem was, before I even got to the point of humbling myself enough to be aware of who I might have wronged, my mind was filled with the names and experiences of people I knew I needed to forgive.  So, as I worked my Recovery on Monday morning, I prayed, then I sat in front of my computer screen and tried to be completely open to those people I needed to let go of resentments for as I typed.  The names that came up and the reasons for them completely blew me away--a few names (my dad and my husband, for example), didn't even come up at all, and then there were other names that were on there of people I hadn't even realized I was harboring resentments towards--some of the resentments were really stupid, pointless reasons (a sister-in-law who never visited me when she was in town last week, for example), and others were much more deep-rooted, but through the whole page of writing ran a stream of vitriol I was shocked to see that I was capable of.
I looked at my list after it was done, and I prayed.  With most of the names on my list (there were probably about ten people total), I was able to feel the peace of forgiveness and assurance quickly, but there are two names left on my list that I'm really still having to work towards.  These two people are family members, which of course gives me plenty of justification for being offended by them and plenty of opportunities to be freshly offended by them on quite a regular basis, and although none of the offenses are entirely serious, I can still feel them rankling in my bosom--this irritation that won't quite go away, this willingness to automatically assume the worst about them, this unkindness in my thoughts towards them.
I look for excuses to still feel angry towards these two people, and I don't like that I do that.
I've been praying for these two family members for a few days, but was still feeling justified in feeling irritated towards them even this morning, and then I went to Sacrament Meeting today.
The speaker, a high councilman, was both inspired and inspiring, and between pulling kids out from under the bench, chasing down runaway crayons, and wiping chewed-up Fruit Loops off of my dress, I was busy wiping away the tears that streamed down my cheeks as he spoke of forgiveness and grace in a way that touched my soul deeply.
He spoke of the book "Les Miserables," and read a quote describing those people who are so interested in other peoples' flaws and secrets that the only joy they have is from putting people "in their place."
He then spoke of our need to forgive others--our need to love them, to look for the good in them, to help them in their times of need, and as he did, although I did feel guilty for still justifying my resentment for these two people, I was filled with hope--I knew, I just knew, that as I continued to pray for at least a desire to forgive these people that that forgiveness would come.  And as I seek to forgive, I know that burden will be laid down at the Savior's feet, and He will take care of it for me.
"Is it not the most fallen who have most need of charity?”
~Victor Hugo

So Now What?

Last Wednesday, my dad and mom came over and sat down in our front room, holding hands, and faced my husband and I for a serious talk.
My dad looked me in the eyes as he told me of his most recent behavior--while he hasn't relapsed or acted out with his previous pornography addiction (one I've known about since I was 18), he has been using avoidance behaviors at work, and so he has lost his job--a job that our whole family thought he loved and was remarkably good at, but one that it turns out he hated and avoided through Internet browsing.
Thankfully, he has a new job provided for him, but my parents aren't sure if the salary will be enough for them to pay the mortgage on the home we've had since I was a child, so although there have been many tender mercies, there will still be some pretty steep consequences for his behavior--consequences that will affect the entire family.
My stomach knotted as I watched him and my mom, looking at each other, and then hearing my mother softly cry in the background as my dad said something that struck me incredibly powerfully: "Your mother has always given me her entire self.  She has always let me see the good and the bad both, but because I was so ashamed to let her see what I saw as the worst parts of myself, I always tried to hide things from her, thinking it was because I was trying to become what I wanted to be.  In reality, I hid them because I was afraid. Since this last Sunday, I have decided to be completely and totally honest with her in every way.  I don't want to hide from her anymore."
At that moment, seeing my mom looking up at my dad with so much love and patience, rather than feeling angry with my dad for his irresponsible behavior, I was surprised to find that I was both sad and jealous.
I was jealous of the honesty they had, and I knew that that kind of honesty--that openness, was what I wanted in my own marriage.
And I didn't have it.
Afterwards, I let myself cry for as long as I wanted (I'm trying to learn how to emote rather than hold my feelings down--a habit that's harder than it sounds), and then my husband and I sat down and talked.
Surprisingly enough, we both came away with the same exact perspective--we each felt compassion and respect for my dad, and we both wanted that kind of honesty in our own marriage.  But we did nothing about it that night, and even though I had a few things come to mind that I felt I needed to share with him, I didn't have the courage to tell him out loud just yet.
So, the tension built.
And built.
And built.
We tried to keep things cheerful and positive for the kids, but I could feel the distance growing exponentially, and by Sunday night, when it came time for bed, I couldn't figure out how to sleep--the stranger in bed beside me felt so alien that I couldn't bring myself to sleep with him.  My gut kept screaming at me to get out, to escape, to get away.
So I did--for the first time in my married life, I voluntarily slept separately from my husband.  I grabbed a blanket and a pillow and slept on the couch, and the moment my head hit the pillow, I felt that peaceful feeling that always comes when I follow my instinct and find out that it was the right thing to do.
Sleep then came easily, and when I woke up the next morning, my worried husband was standing over me.
"What did I do?  Why were you sleeping in here?" I could see the hurt in his eyes--sleeping together is usually very important to both of us.
I was still too groggy to try to get into all of the details, so I gave a partial truth: "You were snoring."
He let it slide, still worried, and I felt the tension return immediately.  I had to tell him the truth, but I knew it would be hard with the kids up and awake--it wasn't a good time.
The lie I told wouldn't leave me alone, however.  It kept building and building, until finally, I had to let it all out before I burst.
"I lied." I spat.  I knew I sounded hard, angry, but he kept eye contact, never wavering.  I went on.  "Last night, I didn't sleep with you because I didn't feel close to you.  There's something keeping us apart.  And I can't figure it out.  I'm trying so hard to be honest, to communicate, but I'm being blocked."
I could see the tears welling up in his eyes, which softened my heart and lessened my frustration, just a bit.  I reached across the table and took his hand in mine.  "You are so important to me.  I want to make this work, but right now, I just can't.  And I don't know why."
Just then, Child #2 came in, whining about how Child #1 had taken his favorite superhero toy, and Child #3 followed him with her diaper trailing halfway down her leg, happily hugging her favorite doll.
He blinked the tears back, then squeezed my hand.  "Can we finish this conversation after the kids are down for naps?  I want to talk to you."
I nodded, wiping back my own tears, and we somehow got the kids through lunch and down for naps before we retreated to our room.
We sat down on the bed, where he proceeded to disclose something to me.  Something big--something that he had kept hidden from me since before we were married.
The amazing thing, though, was that I wasn't surprised--even as he began speaking, the Spirit whispered to me, letting me know what was coming, and I immediately had brought to my mind several instances where I had wondered, guessed, thought that perhaps, maybe?  And now that feeling--that inkling--was being validated.
I had known about it all along.
And as the man I loved more than life itself broke down sobbing, telling me something he had never told another living person before, through no virtue of my own, I was filled with complete and overwhelming love.  I LOVED him, perfectly, thoroughly, completely--and I had only compassion for him and relief that he was finally relieving himself of this burden.
I let him talk and cry, I cried with him through his pain, and then--silence.
Peaceful silence.
The truth was out, and it had set him free--to some extent.  Free from the worry that I would hate him for lying to me, free from the fear that I would leave him if I knew, free from the burden of such a secret to bear on his own.
But still not completely free.
We talked for a while longer, I shared all of the things that had come to my mind that I needed to be honest with him about, and then--
"Now what?" I asked.  "Do you want to talk to a counselor?  Our bishop?  Do you want to start recovery?"
"I dunno," he responded.  "It's taken me a full year to get up the courage to tell you.  Give me some time, okay?"
I felt that it was a reasonable request, so I agreed.
I know the anger, the betrayal, the trauma from being lied to for so long will hit me eventually.  I know it will, and I'm trying to be prepared for it--to experience it fully, to acknowledge it, to surrender it to God when it does come.  In the meantime, I'm trying to be patient as I wait for him to continue on the healing process in his own way and time.
For now, I finally know the truth.
But now what?

Be Still

Yesterday morning, I decided I was going to kick my depression in the butt.
I woke up, I GOT up (rarely two simultaneous events these days), and I got working.
I made pancakes for breakfast.
I did the dishes.
I folded the three weeks' worth of clean laundry that had been sitting in my laundry room so that my children could once again find some clean underwear to wear.
I started picking up my room...
and then I crumbled.
I couldn't do it.  I didn't have it in me to fake it.  I was yelling at the kids, I was crying at my husband, and I was miserable.
And I felt guilty for being miserable.
So, I finally called my sponsor (after hiding from her for the past two weeks), and talked.  And cried.  And talked some more, and she let me know--I needed some self-care.
Not curling up in front of a movie with a bowl of ice cream style of self-care....I didn't need to numb myself.
I needed to be still.
She suggested a walk, so after I studied and prayed and took the time to be still for a while, my husband and I took the kids to the park, and I watched them play.  I didn't hover, I didn't force myself to participate, I just watched.
And was still.
Then, when we got home and I got them to bed, I did some yoga.  And during the savassanah phase, where the instructor asked me to lay down and be still--the part I usually fast-forward, because it's not "real" exercise, I was still.
It's hard to be still when you want to escape from the darkness of your thoughts, when you want to run, to hide, to ignore or numb who you are and what you're feeling--but sometimes, that's what the Lord commands us to do: "Be still and know that I am God."
And last night, when I fell into my bed and was still yet again, I felt it.
Peace.
Be still.

Surrender

My brother and sister-in-law (whom for the sake of this post we will call Simon and Diana) came to visit this last weekend.
Watching them interact was painful--this is the same brother that I called recently, and who disclosed to me that he has a continuing addiction to pornography.  Watching her--how hurt she was, how she tried to get him to notice her and the children, how she nitpicked and controlled and got angry--made my heart hurt.
I love my brother.  I adore him.  But it hurt me to see what a dark place he is in.
BECAUSE OF PORN.
Simon got addicted to pornography when he was a young boy--similar to many other stories you've probably already heard.  And he's currently in counseling, which is wonderful...but when I asked him a few weeks ago if he'd been going to Group, doing the steps, or any of the other things that have genuinely helped me, he said, "Well, no--I've not gotten around to that yet."
I was able to drop it when I was on the phone with him--after all, Utah is a long way away from where I live, and it's easy for me to not feel the need to rescue or fix from a distance.
But this past week?  Watching him disconnect and ignore and play games on his iPhone while the rest of us were watching our children play together?
I wanted to fix it.  I wanted to rescue him.  I wanted to help Diana so that she wouldn't have to go through the same thing I've been experiencing with my own husband's disconnect.
So I sat and talked to her at one point, and I brought a manual ("Understanding Pornography," a manual published by The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints, is marvelous.  If you haven't read it yet, you should), and left a note on it telling them that this book had brought me a lot of hope and hid it in her suitcase (after asking her, of course), and then I realized that I needed to surrender.
Big time.
So I spent the entire weekend praying, pleading, watching, and trying to follow the Spirit.
By Friday afternoon, I was shot.  I was exhausted from trying not to step on toes, trying not to judge while feeling judged, and when we were all visiting at my Grandma's house, I got triggered, badly.  I ended up walking my kids a block back to my house and driving them home for nap time in tears.
I know God loves Simon.  I know God loves Diana, and I know that despite the hurt, despite the pain--they love each other.  Truly.
But oh, the pain.  It's real.
And I hate the fact that I'm so vulnerable, so weak, so RAW, that just having family in town for what was actually a joyous occasion (my younger sister graduated from High School) completely undid me.
I hate the fact that I'm so emotionally fragile.  That I hide in bed from my children every morning until I'm absolutely forced to get up, that I take naps that last for hours every day and STILL feel tired, that the smallest hiccup in my day leaves me in tears.  I hate that I still feel resentful about stupid things, and that a comment made in passing by someone can be a trigger that leaves me feeling completely turned around.
So now, I guess I need to relearn how to surrender.  Only this time, I have to surrender my brother, his marriage, and his family, rather than my own family and marriage.
Which, I'm learning, is just as hard to do--only in a completely different way.

Me Again

I woke up yesterday morning feeling like myself again, for the first time in I don't know how many months.
I got out of bed without my children forcing me to.
I cleaned.  ON MY OWN.  I swept and mopped my floor (it's literally been over a month since the last time I did that), and I cleaned without resentment or anger, but with the genuine satisfaction that comes from seeing a job well done, as well as the peace that come from living in a house that doesn't resemble a place where you would keep livestock.
And then my husband came home from a camp out, and I could tell he was irritated.  Irritated that I had talked him into taking both the three-year-old AND the five-year-old with him (I know, I'm so demanding).
And I started feeling guilty.  And then I started feeling resentful and manipulated, and then cleaning suddenly became a CHORE instead of a gift of service to the people I love.  Another symptom of just how much I was taken for granted.
And then I felt guilty for being resentful, and I thought I could hold it in and just fake it--I could just go and take a nap with my husband on our bed...but Heavenly Father doesn't let me do that anymore.
Thank Goodness.
So, after mopping and sending my cranky husband in to take a nap, I went and ate some lunch (I'm one of those people who get hangry--I get cranky if I haven't eaten for a while), and then I took a nap on the couch, after a few more surrendering prayers and a little bit of reading in my Steps.
And after we woke up, when we felt better, I pulled The Husband aside and TOLD him.  Honestly, but kindly.  "I'm glad you took the boys camping, but I was angry because I felt that you had a bad attitude about it.  That's why I didn't come sleep with you for nap time."
He was gracious about it and apologized for his bad attitude, and I felt better.
I gave him the truth.
And the truth set me free.

Control Freak

I've learned that I like being in control.
I like being in control of my emotions, of maintaining my yard, of the choices I make, of how my household is run, of how I feel and think and react to things.
Problem is, I've never been in control--I've only had the illusion of control as I've shoved emotions down through cake and binge TV-watching (curse you, Netflix) and as I've swept, mopped, folded laundry, taught piano lessons, made dinners, and cleaned, cleaned, cleaned, all while resenting what was going on inside of me and pretending that I was being Christlike by never (heaven forbid!) actually SAYING what I was feeling.
And then my husband went out of town in February, during the same week that I was scheduled to teach 27 piano lessons, my three children all had a nasty mix of Strep Throat, fevers over 104 degrees, bronchial infections, and ear infections, right after I had to put on a HUGE, incredibly stressful dance for the members of my local community, and I was expected to take care of it all.
And that week was when I lost any sense of control that I might have had.  I pretty much had a complete nervous breakdown, which I'm now grateful for, because it lead me to needing the Twelve Steps.
I've learned about the Steps before, you know--when my husband admitted to me that he'd been struggling with pornography three years ago, I got the pamphlet and like the dutiful returned missionary I was, I studied and took notes.
And then my husband got on antidepressants and felt better, so I felt better, so I stopped with the steps.  I didn't "need" them anymore, because, after all, the problem was "under control."
But this time--it's different.  Six years of me shoving down emotions without ever actually admitting to them or feeling them or letting myself actually say anything about the way I felt when I was left alone to deal with hard things--that's added up.  And I can't pretend to have control anymore.
Step One was incredibly empowering and enlightening to me--Honesty.  Honestly admitting to yourself that your life has become unmanageable, and voluntarily surrendering all control to God... nothing is more empowering than realizing that we aren't MEANT to control it all.  We have Someone who is more than willing to take control of the reins, so long as we quit clinging to them blindly and hand them over to Him.
Last night I was reminded of the need to surrender.  I got myself into a situation where I was told that I would be contributing a specific need to a particular occasion (I was on the judge's panel to cast a local children's production of Annie).  I was told that since I didn't have any children trying out for this play, that I would be an important, unbiased part of the panel, and I went into last night with a definite illusion of the control I would have over the choices made.
However, due to some other judges who had differing opinions from mine, the cast list went out last night, and three of the main leads are the daughters of one of the judges, while another main lead is the daughter of another judge, while yet another lead is the daughter of yet another judge.
So much for being unbiased.
I genuinely felt sick when I got home at 3:00 this morning.  I had tried to defend my personal casting choices, but been outvoted nearly every time, and knowing that my name was going to be on that casting list, showing decisions that weren't mine to make, makes me feel angry, fearful of dealing with upset parents, victimized, betrayed, and a host of other emotions that I realize probably aren't proportionate to the situation I was in.
I thought I would have control over what decisions were made last night, and after the first fifteen minutes of hearing one of the judges trying to convince me why his daughter would be the best Annie, I realized that whatever control I thought I had was definitely an illusion, and I resented that fact.
However, after some good venting to my sponsor and an out-loud, kneeling-down prayer (something I'm trying to do on a daily basis after being in the habit of praying silently for the past many years), not to mention lots of "help-me-surrender-this" prayers as I've gone about my business this morning, I'm feeling better now.
These are good parents who want their children involved in something wonderful.  They are positive, optimistic people, and I genuinely look forward to working with them and their children.  If last night didn't go how I had planned or imagined it going, I can still feel confident about the fact that I didn't tacitly go along with something I disagreed with, and if the cast ended up the way it did, it did so with my full honesty about being uncomfortable with it.  I don't have to victimize myself or vilify the other people involved in this project--all I have to do is surrender, to do my best to ensure that the kids under my stewardship have a good experience, and to know that God will take care of those poor broken-hearted 11-year-old girls who will cry themselves to sleep tonight, and that He has a plan for them that makes whether or not they got the lead role in Annie an incredibly insignificant part of their lives.
And knowing that little fact will help me sleep better at night.

All of Us?

How in the world does Heavenly Father manage to love EVERY single one of his children?
How does he love screwed-up me and my husband the same as he loves the prophet the same as he loves the drug-dealer on the street or Hitler or any other evil, horrible human being who also happens to be a child of God?
How?!?!
The truth is, I don't think our finite minds can begin to comprehend how He manages to have perfect, never ending love for all of His children.
Being a parent has helped me start to understand--in the smallest miniscule way--how perfect and all-encompassing a parent's love for a child can be, as well as how love can be powerful but different for each individual--I don't love my hyperactive, energetic, eager 5-year-old son the exact same way as I love my obedient, easygoing, happy, stubborn 2-year-old daughter, but I love them both beyond comprehension.  That parental bond is a very real and powerful emotion.
Which is a good thing, because otherwise, I think we'd hear of a lot more parents devouring their young.
But the other day, my kind and wise Heavenly Father gave me just a glimpse into how His love works.
I had run a quick trip into Super-Walmart with my slightly self-absorbed seventeen-year-old sister and my three tantrum-throwing toddlers, and as part of the deal, I had stooped to bribery and bought a baker's dozen worth of donuts to feed the children.  We had finally loaded all of the kids in the car, and I was looking forward desperately to a well-earned naptime once we traveled the 30 minutes home, when I happened to glance over towards the bus stop that is on the way out of the parking lot, and noticed a youngish woman sitting on the curb with her face in her hands.
Instantly, the thought came to me: "She needs someone to check on her.  Go do it."
It didn't come again, but because I'm learning to follow thoughts that I know aren't mine, I flipped an extremely dangerous U-turn in the middle of the parking lot while trying to explain to my sister what I was doing (she looked at me as if I was crazy), and put the car in park right next to the woman sitting on the curb. I grabbed a donut with a napkin and climbed out of the car and walked over to her nervously, then tapped her on her tattooed arm.  She looked up, startled, tears still streaming down her face.
"Hey, um--you looked like you were having a hard time, and I thought...would you like a donut?"  I stammered awkwardly, holding the donut out to her.  "I know it won't fix anything, but maybe it'll make you feel a little better?"
She looked at me a little strangely (I don't blame her), then took the donut hesitantly.  "Thanks, I guess."  She began wiping her eyes, embarrassed.
"Is everything okay?  Do you want to talk about it?"  I asked gently, as I sat down on the curb beside her.
Her face crumpled and she began to cry again.  "I can't get my meds!"
I'll admit, my first thought was Oh, crap--I just stopped to help a druggie! 
But I didn't say anything, and she continued to tell me how her insurance company had elected to stop covering her seizure medications--the ones that cost $500 per month--and she didn't know how she could hold down a job or take care of her children without those medications--and how hopeless and scared she felt.
I didn't say anything beyond a murmured "That sounds so hard," or "I'm sorry it's so hard for you right now," because I had absolutely no advice, no solutions--nothing beyond a listening ear to offer. She vented for about five minutes (I had to keep myself from continually glancing over at my car where my hyperactive children were literally licking the windows), and as she began to calm down and get quieter, I had another distinct thought: "She needs to know that her Heavenly Father loves her.  Tell her that."
As she paused for a moment, I patted her knee awkwardly.  "I'm so sorry that things are hard.  And I know it may not feel like it right now, but I want you to know that God loves you, and I know that everything will turn out all right.  He sent me here to tell you that."
She gave me another strange look--I couldn't tell what she might have been thinking--but I knew that my job was done at that moment.  I asked her if I could give her a hug, and she let me, and then I got back in my car and drove away.
I don't know what she got out of that, and I probably will never know in this life what it may have meant to her, but I do know that I once again was reminded that my Heavenly Father knows us each on a more individual and personal basis than we can possibly comprehend.
And He loves us and sends us exactly what we need, exactly when we need it.
And that's something to think about, now, isn't it?

Trauma

As the second oldest of eleven children following directly behind an older sister who had disabilities that left her unable to care for even herself, much less our younger siblings, I necessarily got left alone with the kids quite a lot, starting around the age of seven.
Side note: lest you think my parents were neglectful or uncaring, I want to set things right here and now: I love and admire my parents.  My mother dealt with poverty, an addictive husband, and massive amounts of chaos and children, and somehow managed to raise us in absolute love and support through all of these incredible trials.  And my dad, while an addict, was still my hero growing up, and even learning about his addiction to pornography as an adult didn't change anything about the fact that he is still my hero.
So, back to the story.
Because I was often left in charge of my siblings in chaotic and stressful situations, I learned quickly how to deal with stress and chaos---tough it out and just deal with it.  I was a responsible child who wanted to do the best she could, and so when I was left alone to deal with these situations, I usually just tried to make the best of them.
So that's what I did.  I babysat with minimal complaining, I always had the hardest chores because I was the one who could be trusted to do them right, and I was the one who was painfully aware of the poverty our family was going through while the little kids still begged for treats at the grocery store checkout line.
Treats I knew we could never afford to get.
Fast forward to Jr. High.  Seventh grade was the time in my life when all of my previous best friends decided that I wasn't quite cool enough to hang out with any more.  This was the darkest time of my life (due to poverty, a dangerously low self-esteem, and high levels of stress put on my 12-year-old shoulders by a severely depressed mother and an addict father), and even typing up some of the specific experiences still brings tears to my eyes.  During this time, I once again learned that when hard things came up, I needed to just suck it up and deal with it, and I did.  This was also the time where my budding testimony started to buoy me up, but for the most part, I felt abandoned to deal with hard things on my own.
But it was okay.
I was capable.  I was mature, I was "older than my years," I was the strong one while my brother attempted suicide and my older sister was off in her own world, trapped behind a disability no one could seem to get past....and besides, doesn't everyone have a hard Junior High experience?  I mean, really?
Fast forward once again to my mission. I was serving in Taiwan, and had been on the island for about 5 months when I was sexually assaulted one day while out riding my bike.  A man came up next to me on his scooter and grabbed my left breast and started massaging it.  It took a moment for my mind to process what was happening, but as soon as I did, I stopped my bike, shouted at him, and he rode off.  I rode over to my companion and immediately burst into tears--needless to say, this was an incredibly traumatic event for a virgin who had dedicated her life to purity and chastity for her Heavenly Father for the next 18 months.
We called my mission president, who, due to some other emergencies among other missionaries, didn't have much time to help me--we did a bit of a therapy session sitting in the back of the van while two other missionaries drove us to a different appointment, but by the end of it, when he asked me if I would be okay, I shakily said I would be fine, and then he dropped us off back at the mission home and left me to deal with the trauma of being sexually harassed with the help of another 21-year-old girl and my Heavenly Father.
Once again, it was okay.
I had a testimony, I knew how the Atonement worked, and although I woke up for the next couple of weeks with nightmares every night, I eventually worked through the trauma and once again found joy and completion in my calling as a missionary.
I always shied away from the word "trauma" when dealing with my husband and my issues.  Yes, he was acting like an addict, and yes, he was avoiding being home, but he wasn't cheating on me, he wasn't betraying me, he wasn't even addicted to anything that was really all that dangerous--after all, who doesn't have a problem checking Facebook or their texts too often?  Isn't it normal behavior?
But today, when I was working on my 4th step and seeing these patterns of abandonment through my life, I realized--my husband abandoned me.  He might not have actually left me permanently alone, he might not have even realized what he was doing as he stalled after classes or spent too much time playing with his electronic devices or detached in the middle of conversations with me, but he was avoiding and abandoning me to deal with our children, the stress of maintaining our household, and my own issues on my own.
And I have been traumatized by that.

Not Enough

The Husband came home yesterday from school and sat with me for a good 45 minutes, talking about his day and listening to me talk about mine.
He read with the kids for at least half an hour before helping me do scriptures, prayer, and drinks before putting them all to bed--a typical nighttime routine that I'm oh-too-used to doing on my own.
He asked me how I was doing, he grabbed my hand and squeezed it as I was bustling about the kitchen, and when I went and grabbed some groceries, he came out to the car without me asking and helped me put everything away--all things that I've literally begged him to do before with little to no response.
He even asked me how I was doing on a scale of 1-10 (we rate our feelings on a scale of 1-10, 1 being hiding in the corner in the fetal position, crying and sucking one's thumb, and 10 being twirling on a mountain top, Julie Andrews style--it's a pretty effective way to check in).
I lied and told him I had been about a 6, even though I'd spent most of the day hovering around a 4 for no good reason, and he acted like he even cared.
Maybe he did.
I don't know.
And yet, when I asked him to make a salad for dinner and he declined, saying that he wanted to work on his school paper that was due the next day, I ended up hiding in the bathroom, crying on the phone to my sponsor.
I have spent a majority of my life feeling unwanted by the people around me.  I even spent a good 5 years of my marriage feeling unwanted by my spouse, and now that things are changing and I'm starting to figure out some of the myriad of issues I have to work through, I'm beginning to realize that I am addicted to attention, to compliments, to physical touch, to loving gestures.
I am a NEEDY wife.
And as I talked through my emotions last night, first to my sponsor and then to my husband, I realized something--just as I will never be enough to save or fix my husband, I can't depend on him to be enough to make me feel loved.
He will never be able to hold my hand enough, listen to me enough, spend enough time with me to make up for the past years of me crying in bed next to him while he slept, completely oblivious to my pain.
He will never be able to undo the trauma I have been going through for the past few years as he ignored or avoided me, so stuck in his own depression and self-loathing.
He will never be able to heal or fix or save or rescue me from the pain I am experiencing.
Because he's not supposed to.
Only HE--the Savior--can do those things for me.  Through a life of situations in which I have been abandoned, there is One Person who has never--and will never--abandon me.
And it is in Him I have to trust.

Step 9: Relationships are Complicated

This week was my very first time attending Group.  It was hard to go, and quite frankly, I didn't expect to get all that much out of it; we read from the pamphlet together (we were on Step 9--I've been struggling to even start Step 4), and although I tried to keep an open mind to what I was learning, I kind of categorized it in the "stuff I don't need to worry about 'till later" slot in my Recovery progression.
Then last night, as I was driving home from a youth activity, it hit me: "You need to apologize to your brother."  I was shocked--I hadn't thought about the damage I had done to him for years; although he and I had a tumultuous and complicated childhood, once I had learned about his struggles in Junior High (including a suicide attempt and pornography addiction), I had tried to become a better and more loving sister to him, and I had felt that I had done enough to where my childish manipulations had been forgiven and redeemed.
Apparently not.
So today, with shaking hands, I called my younger brother.
"Hey, Sis!" He answered.  "What's goin' on?"
Shakily, my voice quavering, I let him know that I've been going through a rough time and have started the 12 Step program, and that I had the distinct impression that I needed to call and make reparations to him for the wrongs I had done him, and then I apologized.
"I am so sorry for not being the kind of sister you deserve all those years."
He was surprised, but compassionate.
"That's okay, Sis--to be honest, I feel as though you're the closest of all my siblings, and every time we come to visit, you and your husband are the ones I get most excited about seeing!"
We continued talking for a while--he asked about the hard times I've been going through, and then let me know that he is still struggling with his own pornography addiction (something I had assumed from behaviors I'd seen), and we both expressed love and respect for each other, and that was it.
This stuff is hard.  And sometimes I have no idea why I'm doing it.
But I'm still glad I am.

Beauty and the Beast from a Codependent's Point of View

A few months ago, my friend (who is wonderfully intelligent, educated, and also quite the bra-burning feminist) posted this status update on Facebook: “I am watching ‘Beauty and the Beast’ with my young daughter and I can’t believe Disney would produce such a blatant example of a relationship with an abuser!  Belle falls in love with her captor and puts up with emotional abuse (and the threat of physical abuse) in hopes of changing him—what an unhealthy message to send!  Yadda, yadda, yadda…”

I replace the rest with “yadda, yadda, yadda,” mainly because I can’t remember her other arguments to support her point.  This status irked me for some reason that I couldn’t put my finger on, but I didn’t comment, mainly because it had been a couple of years since I myself had seen said movie, and although I was a staunch and loyal fan of this movie (I have been since my bookworm 9-year-old self first thrilled to the idea of a beautiful Disney princess who loved books as much as I did), I wasn’t entirely positive I wanted to start an Internet war over something I felt in my gut was wrong but that I had no proof of.  Besides, it was a Disney movie.  No big deal.

Fast forward a couple of months.  A few weeks ago, due to a few awakening realizations, I got out my old 12-steps pamphlet again and realized a few things about myself—I am a codependent who has an absolute desire to change, fix, and rescue my husband (not necessarily from pornography, although that has been an issue in the past, but from other destructive thoughts, behaviors, and addictions that only he—and the Savior—can change).  The only desire greater than my desire to rescue is my desire to do the “right” thing.  I’ve been taking steps the past couple of months to try to get in touch with my Heavenly Father and find out His plan for our marriage and family; and more than anything, I’ve been trying to find the courage to give up control of my marriage and my relationship to my Heavenly Father. 

It’s not an easy thing.  I could talk about my very first “honest” discussion with my husband, and how I finally discussed my resentment of his severe depression and its effects on our relationship as well as our spirituality as a family, and how the entire time I felt as though I had just kicked a puppy by looking at the expression on his face and the fear of abandonment I knew he was experiencing.  I could talk about that and the guilt I’m still trying to get over, but at this point, I don’t want to talk about that just yet.

I want to mention how as my children were watching “Beauty and the Beast” yesterday afternoon, I found myself resonating with Belle, wanting to be more like her.

Belle is ANYTHING but a passively abused woman, in my eyes.  She entered what she knew was going to be an imperfect relationship, determined not to have anything to do with her captor in the beginning, but as an intelligent, strong, educated, but soft-hearted woman, she looked for the best in her situation.

She never once allowed the Beast to cross boundaries with her; when he demanded she eat dinner with him even when it made her feel unsafe, she refused to open her door to him.  When they got in a shouting match after she broke his rules and went into the West Wing, she even left.  Afterwards, when he saved her from wolves and she chose to come home with him again, there were no apologies, no submissive avoidance of the topics at hand; she let him know that “you need to control your temper,” but then thanked him for the good he had done—“Thank you for saving my life.”

I was in awe watching/listening to this amazing movie as I went about my day, but it didn’t really hit me until the very end of the movie, when the Beast has been stabbed by Gaston and, to all appearances, died.

Belle, sobbing, hugs him and says softly, “I love you.”

She didn’t know about the spell.  She had no idea that underneath all the fur and fangs was a handsome prince—she just loved, unconditionally, the good in the beast she had come to know over the past months. 

Unlike what my friend claimed, Belle did NOT go into this relationship with the intent to change.  She went in to save her father, but because she kept her mind and heart open, she found the good in the person she had committed to stay with, and without manipulating, without her even trying to change or control the Beast, he freely chose to change under her influence. 

She didn’t learn to love him for who she hoped he could be eventually—she had no idea of his royal heritage or who he might have been before (although the painting in the West Wing might have given her the smallest glimpse of who he really was).  Instead, she loved him as he WAS. 

I can’t begin to tell you what an awakening this was for me.  For so long, I’ve been looking forward with hope to when things would be better, when he would be better, when he would be my equal in things spiritual and emotional.  I’ve loved him for who he was while we were dating (in the past) or for who I hoped he could be (in the future), but not for who he is right now as my husband at this moment, and by doing that, I realize now that I was manipulating him—trying to encourage him, shame him, or somehow motivate him to become something other than what he is right now. 

THAT IS NOT MY JOB.  I am not his Savior.  I’m not even my own Savior. 

Over and over again, as I have taken my husband’s problems to the scriptures, to prayer on my knees, to the temple, the answer I have gotten (for years now) has been “It is not your job to fix him, only to love him.”

I thought I understood that before; and I’m now beginning to realize that I had no clue what that answer truly meant.  I thought I could offer my love with strings attached: “If I tell him I love him enough, he’ll finally learn to love himself.”  “If I give him this gift (his strongest love language is gift-giving), he’ll finally be happy.”  “If I give him enough physical affection, he’ll engage in our relationship.” 

It doesn’t work that way.  That is not how the Savior’s love for us works, nor is it how our Heavenly Father loves us.  He never tells us “I love you, so now you have to do __________,” or “I gave you that awesome tender mercy, so now you have to be more ________.”

President Thomas S. Monson, in a recent Relief Society Meeting, told me personally (he may have been speaking in a worldwide meeting, but I know he was telling this to me and only me): “Your Heavenly Father loves you—each of you. That love never changes. It is not influenced by your appearance, by your possessions, or by the amount of money you have in your bank account. It is not changed by your talents and abilities. It is simply there. It is there for you when you are sad or happy, discouraged or hopeful. God’s love is there for you whether or not you deserve love. It is simply always there.”

We have been told numerous times in the scriptures that we are to have Christlike charity for our fellow men.  And this entire time I thought I was loving my husband, I was merely attempting to manipulate, to guilt him, to be “enough” for him.  I was completely unaware of it, but that’s what was happening.

This thought for me is both extremely depressing and extremely liberating at the same time. 

I don’t have to operate under the pressure that I can fix my husband.  I can have faith that it will happen—on the Lord’s timeline and without any pressure or help from me—but IT IS NOT MY JOB.

Like Belle, I can set my boundaries and remain safe, but learn to love—healthy, non-manipulative love—unconditionally.  Like Belle, I can love without hoping that my beast will somehow magically transform under the power of my love, but for who and what he is, today, and then step back and leave the rest up to my Heavenly Father.

Hi, I'm Jewel

This is frightening.
Like, scary dream where you go to school in your underwear-style frightening.
This blog is where I'm going to write about things that my next-door neighbor has no idea of.  Things like my husband's addictions, my reactions to them, and my struggle and desire to be a strong, emotionally healthy woman.
I'm afraid, but more than that, I am brave.  This is where my voice will be heard.  I have no idea how many people will find me; I have a feeling that very few will ever read these words.  But I'm putting them out there.
Because I am brave.