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?

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.