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.