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.
Thursday, April 17, 2014
Wednesday, April 16, 2014
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.
Tuesday, April 15, 2014
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.
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.
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