This morning I awoke to my regular alarm and was surprised to find myself alone. I hate that my first thought was about pornography. I hate that my first instinct was to doubt and to not trust....to think the very worst. I hate that about this new me.
But things were not at all bleak. I went into the boys' room to wake them up, to get them ready for school. I turned on the light only to find their beds empty also.
I went downstairs and found the boys on the couch watching television. My husband was not there either. I was a bit confused. And then I found him in my rocking chair in my sewing room.
He was writing in a book I had never seen before. He had told me that he had purchased a notebook to write in for the same reasons I started this blog. It is something impermanent. If he decides to keep it, fine....if not....he can throw it out. If I decide to keep writing here, fine...but if not, it is easily deleted and gone. Or there is also the middle ground of...I can print what I would like to keep or even use this as a reference to write an abridged account of things while tossing out the rest.
I told the boys to turn off the TV and get ready for school, went into the room, closed the door, and sat on the floor. We talked for a while.
I think he needs to find a passion....something into which he can throw his whole self and come out refreshed...something that can draw out his emotions and soften them. He is an artist. So you would think that would be a fairly emotional profession....but the truth is that he rarely creates a piece out of passion. He enjoys his work, he enjoys being creative...and he likes to create fan-art on the side....but rarely is there any more emotion or passion in his work than that.
So we were trying to figure out what his passion is....that thing that he wants to do when he is upset...the thing that makes him feel better when his emotions are overwhelming. He said it was gardening and being outdoors. So we tried to come up with some ideas about how he could use that passion in the winter and with the kids. I suggested that they each start a nature sketch book where they hike somewhere, find a plant, sketch it, and then come home and learn all that they can about that plant. They would each have their own book, and it would be for no one but themselves. Very low pressure. All the things they all like to do. And they can do it at any time of year.
He seemed to like the idea, but the pressures of the morning did not allow the time to really flesh it out much. We'll see where it goes.
In the course of our discussion, the subject of the piano came up. I realized I couldn't talk about. I knew that I was really sad that it is broken and not working properly...but even a few words broaching the subject and I was in tears. I just can't bring myself to think about it, let alone talk about it. I am heartbroken. It is my passion. My catharsis. It is where I have consistently gone to work through my emotions, both joy and sorrow. Every major moment of my life has been reflected over a piano....high school crushes and disappointments, acceptance into college, marriage and the births of my children, drama in my family, the death of my grandmother and father, moving, bad days, good days, a raise at work, being yelled at by a neighbor...it's all been recorded in the keys and notes of my piano. It seems so silly and cliché...but that's who I am. I believe that each moment in life has a soundtrack and I don't enjoy music that I can't participate in.
The last few days I have found myself happy during the day. And today I realized it was because my husband and I had taken the time to connect in the morning before life butted in. I don't think I realized how important it is to take the time to actively connect with him. I've never not loved him. And I think it is pretty normal to occasionally just not like him too much. But I've neglected that connection between us. It's apathy. We weren't unhappy. But we weren't exceptionally happy either. We were apathetic...and content with our apathy. I think a lot of marriages experience that, which is sad. I think we all could be a little happier if we didn't allow ourselves to become complacent about the really important things in our lives.
Friday, January 30, 2015
Happy Days
Today was a good day. I don't know what was different about today compared to other days in the last couple of weeks, but today....today I was happy. I felt like my old self. I made jokes and laughed and chatted with my friends. I was having fun. Things didn't seem bad. The stressful stuff didn't bother me. I didn't think about pornography.
It was just a good day.
I want more good days. I want to smile all the time. I want to be a happy person. I don't want to be sad. I don't want to be obsessive and pouty. I'm going to get through this and I'm going to be better for it. In the mean time, I need to know that it's okay to smile.
It was just a good day.
I want more good days. I want to smile all the time. I want to be a happy person. I don't want to be sad. I don't want to be obsessive and pouty. I'm going to get through this and I'm going to be better for it. In the mean time, I need to know that it's okay to smile.
Thursday, January 29, 2015
When Does It Go Away?
Last Saturday, a friend texted me and asked if I wanted to go out to dinner. I was so desperate for some human connection, and my spirits shot up immediately. Then, there was the crash. The realization that I've had a really sucky time lately but I couldn't tell them. The tiptoeing around the issue. The trying not to be too sensitive about it because it's always on my mind.
When I got home, it was late, and my husband was understandably in bed already. But somehow that was kind of hurtful. I wanted him to be up, waiting for me, eager to hear how my night had gone. But he wasn't. He was apparently asleep and altogether disinterested. It was totally understandable. But it was disappointing.
The next day was Sunday. Sunday was a hard day. I've already beaten that horse. But later that evening, when we finally talked, he told me how hard Saturday had been for him....how he had felt that old bug...the depression and the apathy setting in...how he would usually go downstairs and look up some stuff. But he didn't. He stayed upstairs in bed and cried himself to sleep. I hated hearing that. I hated that he was sad, but he didn't reach out to me. I hated hearing that he was sad but I wasn't there for him. I hated hearing that the temptation was there again already. I guess I wanted to believe that we'd get a little bit of a free pass for a while. That, sure, he would be tempted again, but that his heart and soul were so profoundly changed that it would be a month at least! I wasn't ready for there to be temptations after 2 weeks.
Last night was another temptation night. He didn't say as much...in fact he pretty much denied that it was a temptation night. He couldn't sleep and was up for much of the night. I went to bed early, as usual. But I didn't complain about the light or him playing his iPad at the end of the bed. I just went to sleep....quietly....discreetly. I didn't want him to know I was asleep because I hate that he now feels tethered to me after work....because that's when the temptations come.
When he talked to the Bishop last week, the Bishop asked if he had a plan. He said that his plan was to keep trying to do the things he needs to do (reading scriptures, praying), being more open with me, visiting with the Bishop regularly, and not being in the basement alone at night. The Bishop agreed that this was a good plan and they set up their next appointment.
This morning, my husband told me that he had wanted to go downstairs to watch TV when he couldn't sleep, but he hadn't because he didn't want me to worry.
And that bothered me....
I don't want him to forsake his sin because of me. I appreciate and love that his reasons for "coming out" were because he wanted our relationship to be stronger. I appreciate and love that he didn't go downstairs. I even appreciate and love that he didn't want to worry me. But if his recovery is based on his feelings for me...does that mean recovery stops when he gets angry with me? Does that mean every fight will result in a relapse?
I have read a bunch of other blogs written by WoPAs....and I see a consistency where the wife hears in the addict's words and actions that she isn't worth his recovery. I appreciate that my husband thinks I am worth recovery....but I want his recovery to be worth more than me or us. I want it be something he wants for him. I want it to be something that is dependent on something constant. I want him to stick with the plan because it is the plan....not because deviations will create a less than favorable reaction in me.
As much as I would like to believe that I am or could someday be perfect....as much as I would like to hope that our relationship could someday be perfect....it's not. And growth is not a straight line between two points...It's a series of highs and lows, mountains and valleys, as we trudge through snow and ice and mud and grass toward the next milestone which is only one small point in the distance amongst the thousands of others toward which we plod throughout our lives.
I am not consistent. Our relationship is not consistent. I need his recovery to be consistent.
I'm not being honest if I pretend like I didn't wonder and worry about what I should have been doing last night. I desperately needed sleep....but I desperately need him. I tossed and turned as I tried to decide if I should wake up and watch a show with him or maybe try to talk with him or just get the sleep that I very much needed. I decided to hope and trust...
...but it was on my mind all morning. Every second we were together I subconsciously plotted how to turn the conversation to the dead horse that I apparently need to beat over and over and over! I don't want to talk about. But it's all that I want to talk about.
He told me this morning that he hasn't had "any problems" (his way of saying "relapses") since he told me. And that is comforting. But it also makes me feel a little guilty for feeling the way I do. When will my obsession with his sin go away? When will I stop seeing it prodding at the seams of our lives? When will I trust and be safe and secure in my husband's fidelity and "sobriety"???
I keep saying that things can't go back to the way they were....but that they can be better. It's so exhausting sometimes...the fear and anguish and mistrust...it's exhausting...sometimes I wonder if better is worth it. I don't want this trial anymore. I don't want this burden. When does it all go away?
When I got home, it was late, and my husband was understandably in bed already. But somehow that was kind of hurtful. I wanted him to be up, waiting for me, eager to hear how my night had gone. But he wasn't. He was apparently asleep and altogether disinterested. It was totally understandable. But it was disappointing.
The next day was Sunday. Sunday was a hard day. I've already beaten that horse. But later that evening, when we finally talked, he told me how hard Saturday had been for him....how he had felt that old bug...the depression and the apathy setting in...how he would usually go downstairs and look up some stuff. But he didn't. He stayed upstairs in bed and cried himself to sleep. I hated hearing that. I hated that he was sad, but he didn't reach out to me. I hated hearing that he was sad but I wasn't there for him. I hated hearing that the temptation was there again already. I guess I wanted to believe that we'd get a little bit of a free pass for a while. That, sure, he would be tempted again, but that his heart and soul were so profoundly changed that it would be a month at least! I wasn't ready for there to be temptations after 2 weeks.
Last night was another temptation night. He didn't say as much...in fact he pretty much denied that it was a temptation night. He couldn't sleep and was up for much of the night. I went to bed early, as usual. But I didn't complain about the light or him playing his iPad at the end of the bed. I just went to sleep....quietly....discreetly. I didn't want him to know I was asleep because I hate that he now feels tethered to me after work....because that's when the temptations come.
When he talked to the Bishop last week, the Bishop asked if he had a plan. He said that his plan was to keep trying to do the things he needs to do (reading scriptures, praying), being more open with me, visiting with the Bishop regularly, and not being in the basement alone at night. The Bishop agreed that this was a good plan and they set up their next appointment.
This morning, my husband told me that he had wanted to go downstairs to watch TV when he couldn't sleep, but he hadn't because he didn't want me to worry.
And that bothered me....
I don't want him to forsake his sin because of me. I appreciate and love that his reasons for "coming out" were because he wanted our relationship to be stronger. I appreciate and love that he didn't go downstairs. I even appreciate and love that he didn't want to worry me. But if his recovery is based on his feelings for me...does that mean recovery stops when he gets angry with me? Does that mean every fight will result in a relapse?
I have read a bunch of other blogs written by WoPAs....and I see a consistency where the wife hears in the addict's words and actions that she isn't worth his recovery. I appreciate that my husband thinks I am worth recovery....but I want his recovery to be worth more than me or us. I want it be something he wants for him. I want it to be something that is dependent on something constant. I want him to stick with the plan because it is the plan....not because deviations will create a less than favorable reaction in me.
As much as I would like to believe that I am or could someday be perfect....as much as I would like to hope that our relationship could someday be perfect....it's not. And growth is not a straight line between two points...It's a series of highs and lows, mountains and valleys, as we trudge through snow and ice and mud and grass toward the next milestone which is only one small point in the distance amongst the thousands of others toward which we plod throughout our lives.
I am not consistent. Our relationship is not consistent. I need his recovery to be consistent.
I'm not being honest if I pretend like I didn't wonder and worry about what I should have been doing last night. I desperately needed sleep....but I desperately need him. I tossed and turned as I tried to decide if I should wake up and watch a show with him or maybe try to talk with him or just get the sleep that I very much needed. I decided to hope and trust...
...but it was on my mind all morning. Every second we were together I subconsciously plotted how to turn the conversation to the dead horse that I apparently need to beat over and over and over! I don't want to talk about. But it's all that I want to talk about.
He told me this morning that he hasn't had "any problems" (his way of saying "relapses") since he told me. And that is comforting. But it also makes me feel a little guilty for feeling the way I do. When will my obsession with his sin go away? When will I stop seeing it prodding at the seams of our lives? When will I trust and be safe and secure in my husband's fidelity and "sobriety"???
I keep saying that things can't go back to the way they were....but that they can be better. It's so exhausting sometimes...the fear and anguish and mistrust...it's exhausting...sometimes I wonder if better is worth it. I don't want this trial anymore. I don't want this burden. When does it all go away?
Wednesday, January 28, 2015
Overreacting or Underreacting??
In the past, whenever I've discovered evidence of my husband's pornography abuse, I've been so embarrassed. It is painful and frustrating and infuriating....but it's also embarrassing. Pornography abuse/addiction is not something that you can really talk about. It isn't something you can tell other people about. I don't want people to think lesser of my husband because he has a problem that he is trying to work through. He's really a super guy! It would be tragic for people to miss out on how awesome he is because they are clouded by their judgments on his pet sin.
This most recent revelation....about 3 weeks ago now....was the most painful. Mostly because of the lying. I hate the lying. I hate that I have been suspicious at times in the last 5, 7, 10 years. I've asked him many times. I've been blunt. I've been kind and supportive. And each time he has looked me in the eye and lied. That stings.
So when he finally came to me with the truth, I was devastated. Not just because he had lied, but because I had built opinions and ideas and expectations on those lies. Suddenly, so much of what I believed, so much of what I thought, so much of what I hoped for him and me and us and our little family....it was all wrong and impossible. I had believed a thousand lies...and each one stabbed me in the heart and twisted the blade for good measure.
I spiraled out of control. I sunk farther into the deep, black abyss of emotional torment than I had ever allowed myself to sink before. I cried until my eyes were dry. I ate junk food. I had panic attacks. I couldn't breath. I couldn't see straight. I stayed in my pajamas. I laid alone in my bed wishing I could just go to sleep and wake up with the pain gone. I said prayers and read books and cried some more.
And I felt the love of my Savior. I came up a bit. I have climbed out of the pit. But I live on this rope bridge where just one broken plank can send me hurdling back into the darkness again. I've had some falls, for sure. I expect there to be more falls. And honestly, those falls have little to do with whether my husband relapses or not. If he is 100% successful in a cold turkey forsaking of pornography, that would be great, but I would still live on this rickety bridge. Because I no longer live on a sure foundation. And it will take time to rebuild it.
Right now for me, the hardest thing is not so much embarrassment about my husband's problem....I am more concerned that others will say I overreacted. And maybe I did. I don't know.
I know that there are people in the world who believe pornography is not that big of a deal. I know that there are very knowledgeable experts who not only condone pornography and/or masturbation but encourage it! There are women who live happily (??) in marriages where pornography use and masturbation regularly and openly occur. Would my reaction seem to them to be ridiculous and out of control?
I have a friend that I desperately want to tell. I want to tell her because she is the least judgmental person I know. She is the most real person I know. And she believes in the same things I believe. Except she was not raised in my church. She lived a very different lifestyle before joining the church. So even though she shares my beliefs, I'm afraid she will not sympathize or comfort me...I'm afraid she will minimize my pain and try to guilt me out of my fear.
On the other hand, my mother has openly disparaged women who did not leave their husbands after discovering the husband's pornography abuse. (The irony that she did not leave her husband after he slept with at least 1 prostitute is not lost on me.) So I also worry that I will be judged for "underreacting."
I suppose fear is the underlying problem here. I'm afraid to tell anyone. I constantly pray in my heart for the day when I am no longer afraid.
This most recent revelation....about 3 weeks ago now....was the most painful. Mostly because of the lying. I hate the lying. I hate that I have been suspicious at times in the last 5, 7, 10 years. I've asked him many times. I've been blunt. I've been kind and supportive. And each time he has looked me in the eye and lied. That stings.
So when he finally came to me with the truth, I was devastated. Not just because he had lied, but because I had built opinions and ideas and expectations on those lies. Suddenly, so much of what I believed, so much of what I thought, so much of what I hoped for him and me and us and our little family....it was all wrong and impossible. I had believed a thousand lies...and each one stabbed me in the heart and twisted the blade for good measure.
I spiraled out of control. I sunk farther into the deep, black abyss of emotional torment than I had ever allowed myself to sink before. I cried until my eyes were dry. I ate junk food. I had panic attacks. I couldn't breath. I couldn't see straight. I stayed in my pajamas. I laid alone in my bed wishing I could just go to sleep and wake up with the pain gone. I said prayers and read books and cried some more.
And I felt the love of my Savior. I came up a bit. I have climbed out of the pit. But I live on this rope bridge where just one broken plank can send me hurdling back into the darkness again. I've had some falls, for sure. I expect there to be more falls. And honestly, those falls have little to do with whether my husband relapses or not. If he is 100% successful in a cold turkey forsaking of pornography, that would be great, but I would still live on this rickety bridge. Because I no longer live on a sure foundation. And it will take time to rebuild it.
Right now for me, the hardest thing is not so much embarrassment about my husband's problem....I am more concerned that others will say I overreacted. And maybe I did. I don't know.
I know that there are people in the world who believe pornography is not that big of a deal. I know that there are very knowledgeable experts who not only condone pornography and/or masturbation but encourage it! There are women who live happily (??) in marriages where pornography use and masturbation regularly and openly occur. Would my reaction seem to them to be ridiculous and out of control?
I have a friend that I desperately want to tell. I want to tell her because she is the least judgmental person I know. She is the most real person I know. And she believes in the same things I believe. Except she was not raised in my church. She lived a very different lifestyle before joining the church. So even though she shares my beliefs, I'm afraid she will not sympathize or comfort me...I'm afraid she will minimize my pain and try to guilt me out of my fear.
On the other hand, my mother has openly disparaged women who did not leave their husbands after discovering the husband's pornography abuse. (The irony that she did not leave her husband after he slept with at least 1 prostitute is not lost on me.) So I also worry that I will be judged for "underreacting."
I suppose fear is the underlying problem here. I'm afraid to tell anyone. I constantly pray in my heart for the day when I am no longer afraid.
Tuesday, January 27, 2015
The Letter; Part 2
So, in my previous post, I copied a letter written by a marriage and family therapist who specializes in pornography issues. I think the letter is a great start and a creative way to help emphasize to male religious leaders how serious the issue is not just to the offender but to their wife and family as well. However, I think it is a bit deficient. I read it originally about 6 months ago when it was handed to me, and while I appreciated the effort then, it didn't really grab at me. I mindlessly folded up the paper and stuck it in my bag. I stumbled across it yesterday and read it again. This time, I saw so much that it left out. It felt passionless and false. I felt like I needed to write my own letter. So here it is...my letter:
Dear Husband,
You came to me and admitted your continuing struggle with pornography. And as much as I appreciated your honesty and your desire to change, your admission has thrown me into an emotional tailspin that I am struggling to really pull out of.
I am writing this letter to you because I need you to know how I feel and what I am thinking, but I am not able to communicate these through words because my words are often clouded by my love for you. I look at you and I see the man that I married. I see the man that you can be. I see a husband and father. I see someone who has succumbed to the power of Satan and who is fighting to be different. I admire you and love you and pity you. And when I open my mouth to tell you of the pain and anguish in my own soul and heart, I can't do it. I hate the idea of bringing you more pain. I hate the idea of giving you another burden when you have born this burden for so long alone. But you need to know. The Lord has commanded us to be one; to bear one another's burdens. And I can't do this alone. I need you to hold my hand because you are not the only one who needs to heal.
I feel hurt. I feel betrayed. I feel angry. And I feel afraid. What you have done is abhorrent and vile to me. I try to imagine it so that I can understand it, but I can't even imagine it because it makes me shudder in disgust. I hate that you brought such horrible things into our home. I hate that you defiled the intimate parts of our relationship with these base and objectifying and selfish images and act. I hate whatever part of you took over and brought you to a place where you were okay with seeking out such wickedness.
I hate that you lied to me. I hate that you lied to me not once and not just by omitting information, but you lied to me purposefully and regularly and to my face. I hate that by lying to me, you made me feel like I was the one in the wrong. In those days when I saw the signs of your abuse and I confronted you, you attacked me and made me feel foolish. In those days, I wondered what was wrong with me. In those days, I beat myself up. I allowed you to distance yourself from me because I was the one being clingy and ridiculous. I distanced myself because I thought it was what you wanted. And I allowed you to blame me when I was hurt by your distance.
I hate that I'm suspicious all the time. I hate that the idea of your sin is stuck in my mind and I can't un-know it. I hate that tears well up in my eyes when I go upstairs and you don't follow me. I hate that I don't trust you to have privacy at all when I know that we all need some to a certain degree. I hate that I no longer trust you to perform your priesthood duties because I don't know if you are worthy or not. I hate that I'm now stuck wondering what else you could have lied to me about. I hate what you have done. And I hate that statistically, it will probably happen at least once more as we walk down this road to recovery.
I have done all of the reading. I've researched and studied and prayed. I know that this is not my fault, that I couldn't have done anything to prevent it. I know that you still find me attractive, that you love me and care about me. I know that you want to be better. But I still can't help hating myself. I suddenly feel so alone. I feel isolated and stupid and angry. I feel like someone suddenly took away the light from my soul, and I am left groping in the darkness. I now carry the burden of your secret and your shame and have no one with which to share it because it is not my sin to confess.
You say that it doesn't change anything. That all of the happiness and love we have shared was real. But I can now see the taint of your sin on our memories. I see the stain of it on so many of our struggles. I see how it has affected me and you. I see how it has affected the Spirit that should be consecrating our home as a sanctuary from the world. And I see how without it, without the pornography, we can be better, our life can be better, our home can be better.
I need you to know that I forgive you. I will always forgive you. But I also need you to know that I have a right to be hurt. I am justified in being broken. You have broken my trust and my heart. And while I love you and desire to fix it, there are going to be scars that may take years to fade. That doesn't mean that I love you any less. It just means that while I recognize that you need to heal, I need you to recognize that I need to heal, too. And while I need to be patient with your recovery, I need you to be patient with mine.
I know that we can do this, you and I. Together with the power of the Atonement of Christ, we can get through this. Things will never be the same as they were a few weeks ago, but they can certainly be better.
I truly and honestly love you with all of my heart. With all that I feel right now, that is what gives me hope. I love you. And I know that you love me.
With faith and hope,
Your Wife
The Letter; Part 1
I don't want to reveal too much about myself or my family on the remote chance that someone I know stumbles in here and finds out our secret. On the one hand, I feel a sense of duty to protect my husband because he doesn't need to be judged publicly for his sins when the truth is that we have *all* sinned at some point and in one way or another. On the other hand, I don't want to be judged for my feelings or my husband's sins. I think those are good reasons to stay somewhat anonymous.
But I am discussing my life and my emotions and my reactions to what happens. Inevitably, some details are going to come out here and there. I just hope that I am careful enough, that I can space out the details enough that someone doesn't connect the dots.
....not that I have any false expectations about millions of followers or even 1 person ever reading this. I don't. I actually assume that no one but myself will ever see these pages. And I'm okay with that. I need a place to organize my thoughts. And I need something to track my progress....or else the dark days will seem infinitely dark and demoralizing. I know that someday I will need to be able to look back on these and see that I've come a long way. And I need to keep this so that I can maintain empathy....so that the next person who comes to me when they find out their husband has a pornography problem, I can remember how painful that moment was and act accordingly.
Okay....those are enough of the disclaimers for now. On to the real substance.
In my neighborhood there is a woman named Shondell Knowlton. She is a respected expert on the effects of pornography on the family and the marriage and works with couples who are struggling with issues as a result of pornography abuse and addiction. She has spoken about this issue a number of times in various church meetings, and each time she discusses the issue she passes out a letter that she wrote from a hypothetical wife to her hypothetical porn addict husband. She originally wrote the letter to send to various male church leaders to emphasize the seriousness of this issue and to provide some perspective for them when dealing with individuals and couples who deal with the issue.
I think this letter is useful for a variety of reasons, so I am going to copy it here.
But I am discussing my life and my emotions and my reactions to what happens. Inevitably, some details are going to come out here and there. I just hope that I am careful enough, that I can space out the details enough that someone doesn't connect the dots.
....not that I have any false expectations about millions of followers or even 1 person ever reading this. I don't. I actually assume that no one but myself will ever see these pages. And I'm okay with that. I need a place to organize my thoughts. And I need something to track my progress....or else the dark days will seem infinitely dark and demoralizing. I know that someday I will need to be able to look back on these and see that I've come a long way. And I need to keep this so that I can maintain empathy....so that the next person who comes to me when they find out their husband has a pornography problem, I can remember how painful that moment was and act accordingly.
Okay....those are enough of the disclaimers for now. On to the real substance.
In my neighborhood there is a woman named Shondell Knowlton. She is a respected expert on the effects of pornography on the family and the marriage and works with couples who are struggling with issues as a result of pornography abuse and addiction. She has spoken about this issue a number of times in various church meetings, and each time she discusses the issue she passes out a letter that she wrote from a hypothetical wife to her hypothetical porn addict husband. She originally wrote the letter to send to various male church leaders to emphasize the seriousness of this issue and to provide some perspective for them when dealing with individuals and couples who deal with the issue.
I think this letter is useful for a variety of reasons, so I am going to copy it here.
Dear Husband,
It makes me really sad to have to write this letter, but I don't know a better way to express the things in my heart. I have learned that pornography is an issue in our lives. In studying this issue I have also learned that you don't mean for me to take this personally, that this has nothing to do with me. You tell yourself that this has nothing to do with our relationship, and this is a victimless, harmless behavior. I want you to know about the feelings I struggle with because of your participation in pornography.
I love you; I love our family. I hope that you don't mean for me to take this personally, but I can't help the fact that I do. It hurts. It hurts so much that sometime it's hard to breathe. It makes me feel old, ugly and fat. It makes me feel ashamed of my body when I want to be intimate with you. It makes me doubt myself and my worth. It makes me wonder in what other ways you think I am not good enough. It makes me wonder if you are thinking about someone else when we make love. I wonder if you stay with me for the spiritual connection, or for public image while you want something else sexually. I am very confused. I am unsure of what you want from me and what you want from our relationship.
I wonder if there have been other secret areas of your life. I wonder if I really know you. Even though you don't think this has anything to do with me, I feel embarrassed and ashamed. I look at other women and envy them. I wonder how they are better than me and how they kept their husbands faithful. I understand that your perception of this problem is different than mine but I feel like this is a form of infidelity. I feel betrayed, hurt, and a lack of trust.
Even though I didn't know exactly what was happening, and in spite of your best efforts you need to know that your behavior with me and our family has changed. You have become more impatient, critical, and cynical. This is not the best of who you are. We love you and want you fully back in our lives, without the pornography.
I know I need to forgive. I love you. I hope that we can get past this. I understand that this behavior can be very addictive. It is likely that you will need spiritual and professional help in changing this behavior. I will educate myself and be supportive of your efforts to change but it must change. I am feeling so anxious about this. Please talk to me. I want to know your feelings. I want to help us get this in the past and keep it there. I love you always.
Your wife.
Monday, January 26, 2015
Sins of My Father
When I was very, very young, I was my father's favorite child. I reveled in it. It was a sense of pride. But the problem was, I was a very bright child. I don't say that in a braggy way. It is a fact. I was smart and insightful and aware.
I was in about 2nd grade the first time my father and I had an argument about some obscure fact or another. Of course he was right...I was in 2nd grade and he was an adult! He gloated, and I learned to pick my battles. I was in 4th grade the first time I won an argument. I gloated, and everything changed.
That's when I learned something about my father. I learned something about why he treated my older brother and sister the way he did. My father coveted power. He resented every aspect of his life in which he was in the power or control of someone else. As a result, he exerted his power fiercely whenever given the opportunity. My brother was beaten so that he would remain submissive. My older sister (his step-child) was somewhat willful and did not hold back when she had something to say to or about him. She was emotionally berated and constantly grounded. And when I proved that I could equal him in intellect...or at least proved that I had the potential to do so...he felt like he had lost the power in our relationship. And I was frozen out. I was in 4th grade.
My younger sister lacked any desire to be anything. She was, like my mother, content to live out her life as a perpetual victim...someone to whom bad things happened. She never really matured. She never became responsible or aware of basic social rules. My father could treat her like a 2 or 3 year old when she was a teenager, and she was just fine with that.
When he was home, she would ask him to wake her up in the mornings, knowing full well what that entailed. So in the mornings, he would come into our room and "tickle" us awake. By the way, we didn't have pajamas. So I slept in a t-shirt while my younger sister generally just slept in her underwear. The inappropriate nature of this little scene began to really bother me around the time I turned 12. Something about it just wasn't right. Not to mention, I was becoming a teenager and was less open to childish activities such as being tickled by one's father. Not to mention, I was becoming a teenager and was less and less inclined to smile at 6 o'clock in the morning.
And that's when it really started. At 12, I told my father that I had no desire to be woken up by him. Ever. I had my own alarm clock and was perfectly capable of waking up myself.
He lost just a little bit more power.
And that was the straw that broke the camel's back, I guess. Very rarely was our relationship pleasant ever again.
But that didn't bother me. My parents were not especially loving people. I was used to being on my own, being responsible for myself. I was used to my mother's volatile mood swings, my father's violent temper. What I wasn't used to was the viciousness of my father. I think he knew what would bother me, and he pushed that button purposefully. He continued to wake up my younger sister in the morning but would deliberately disturb me in the process. When I protested, he would say, "What's your problem? You on your period or something?"
Rude. Vicious. Horribly inappropriate. And the exact thing that would infuriate and humiliate me. That's when I really started to hate him.
********************************
I feel like pornography is a hot button issue in our house right now. My husband is being very open and honest with me, but I'm afraid to broach the subject. I don't want to rub his nose in it, especially when he is trying...no...determined...to change. And I think I'm afraid to know things about it....things that I can't unknow....things that will haunt me. I already feel like I have more ghosts hiding in the darker regions of my mind. I don't know if I can't handle more.
********************************
I'm afraid of seeming like my father. I'm afraid that something bad will happen, and I'll wonder if it's because of pornography...and I'll feel suspicious and ask him....and he'll feel like I'm being rude and vicious and horrible....like I'm trying to infuriate and humiliate him. I'm afraid of putting too much pressure on him or not healing fast enough...I'm afraid he'll stop being so patient with my feelings of nervousness and suspicion...I'm afraid of giving him any excuse to hate me.
I was in about 2nd grade the first time my father and I had an argument about some obscure fact or another. Of course he was right...I was in 2nd grade and he was an adult! He gloated, and I learned to pick my battles. I was in 4th grade the first time I won an argument. I gloated, and everything changed.
That's when I learned something about my father. I learned something about why he treated my older brother and sister the way he did. My father coveted power. He resented every aspect of his life in which he was in the power or control of someone else. As a result, he exerted his power fiercely whenever given the opportunity. My brother was beaten so that he would remain submissive. My older sister (his step-child) was somewhat willful and did not hold back when she had something to say to or about him. She was emotionally berated and constantly grounded. And when I proved that I could equal him in intellect...or at least proved that I had the potential to do so...he felt like he had lost the power in our relationship. And I was frozen out. I was in 4th grade.
My younger sister lacked any desire to be anything. She was, like my mother, content to live out her life as a perpetual victim...someone to whom bad things happened. She never really matured. She never became responsible or aware of basic social rules. My father could treat her like a 2 or 3 year old when she was a teenager, and she was just fine with that.
When he was home, she would ask him to wake her up in the mornings, knowing full well what that entailed. So in the mornings, he would come into our room and "tickle" us awake. By the way, we didn't have pajamas. So I slept in a t-shirt while my younger sister generally just slept in her underwear. The inappropriate nature of this little scene began to really bother me around the time I turned 12. Something about it just wasn't right. Not to mention, I was becoming a teenager and was less open to childish activities such as being tickled by one's father. Not to mention, I was becoming a teenager and was less and less inclined to smile at 6 o'clock in the morning.
And that's when it really started. At 12, I told my father that I had no desire to be woken up by him. Ever. I had my own alarm clock and was perfectly capable of waking up myself.
He lost just a little bit more power.
And that was the straw that broke the camel's back, I guess. Very rarely was our relationship pleasant ever again.
But that didn't bother me. My parents were not especially loving people. I was used to being on my own, being responsible for myself. I was used to my mother's volatile mood swings, my father's violent temper. What I wasn't used to was the viciousness of my father. I think he knew what would bother me, and he pushed that button purposefully. He continued to wake up my younger sister in the morning but would deliberately disturb me in the process. When I protested, he would say, "What's your problem? You on your period or something?"
Rude. Vicious. Horribly inappropriate. And the exact thing that would infuriate and humiliate me. That's when I really started to hate him.
********************************
I feel like pornography is a hot button issue in our house right now. My husband is being very open and honest with me, but I'm afraid to broach the subject. I don't want to rub his nose in it, especially when he is trying...no...determined...to change. And I think I'm afraid to know things about it....things that I can't unknow....things that will haunt me. I already feel like I have more ghosts hiding in the darker regions of my mind. I don't know if I can't handle more.
********************************
I'm afraid of seeming like my father. I'm afraid that something bad will happen, and I'll wonder if it's because of pornography...and I'll feel suspicious and ask him....and he'll feel like I'm being rude and vicious and horrible....like I'm trying to infuriate and humiliate him. I'm afraid of putting too much pressure on him or not healing fast enough...I'm afraid he'll stop being so patient with my feelings of nervousness and suspicion...I'm afraid of giving him any excuse to hate me.
Why Are There Still Bad Days
Sunday was a bad day. I'm not totally sure if I would have had such a hard time with the little things that happened on Sunday if I weren't plagued by the other issues...maybe if my stress level were focused on other things or different, less intense challenges....maybe I would have handled Sunday better. I don't know what it was. But it was bad.
My husband has been trying to get up early every day so that he can have some alone time to read scriptures or watch a quick TV show or just take an extra long shower or whatever before he gets to whatever he needs to get to during the day. On Sunday, he got up at that nice early time and went downstairs. That was the first thing.
I don't want to constantly beat him with the pornography stick, but that was my first thought. He left our bed and went downstairs. Alone. Where the computer is. He brought his iPad. He could be looking at pornography. But I need to trust him....even when I don't trust him. So I stayed in bed....a little bit miserable...checked Facebook and a few other things....and then got out of bed.
He came upstairs. We had a little tiff. Less than a tiff. It wasn't even a tiff. It was like a tf. He was just joking and didn't even realize that what he was saying was upsetting to me. He didn't even remember the conversation later. And really, the issue was a non-issue. I think in part he felt like he was just teasing me. I felt criticized. And my brain went to, "He's being a jerk...maybe he really did look at porn."
I got dressed and got down on my knees to pray. I really felt like I needed to. I didn't know why...I just really felt like I needed to. And at that moment, my son knocked on my bedroom door asking questions. I stopped my prayer, answered his questions, looked at the time, and rushed off to choir. I don't think my prayer was long enough or focused enough to really count.
I was late to choir and was already feeling isolated and sad. I had already taken a few steps down the road to the dark place, and from there, it is just a slippery slope.
When I got home, I was feeling frustrated. I went to my piano to "pound out my emotions." That's what I do. Music is my catharsis. I know it is a bit cliché...I have no training or particular skill....but sitting at my piano....playing and singing....it helps me. But on Sunday....something was off. I could hear it. The piano was not working right. It's broken. I was heartbroken.
I decided to make some herbal tea and get the diaper bag packed. And one thing after another started to break down. We were out of milk. The tea didn't turn out. The kids weren't ready. The Princess was crabby. My husband was not getting ready as quickly as I thought he should. And then I found out that, with 15 minutes before we were to go, he had just thrown his shirt into the washing machine. He though church started an hour later than it did. So we were going to be late no matter what. I pulled the shirt out before the spin cycle and threw it quickly into the dryer on Speed Dry. We got him dressed and ready to walk out the door when my oldest started to freak out about not having a Bible to bring. I tried to calmly explain that there was nothing we could do now. We could have done something an hour ago....but now it was too late, so he would have to go without. It ended with me yelling at him. As I was trying to get the Princess's coat on her, I heard him telling the same thing to my husband. I interrupted and yelled again.
We were finally on our way to church....even if I had to literally drag the Princess the whole way because she kept running out in front of cars but absolutely refused to hold my hand.
Except the main meeting hall was full. And the back was full, too. And the gym had been opened up and some chairs placed there. And those were all full, too. And the foyer was occupied by another family that was apparently also late.
And by this time, I was swallowed whole by the dark place.
Sunday school was fine. Relief Society was boring. A lady behind me kept hounding me to look at some book so that I can help her with some project that I don't really want to help her with...but I told her I would because sometimes I don't know how to say "no." And after the closing prayer was said, the primary president walked in....and I realized that I had forgotten that my son was supposed to have given a talk. And I felt like dirt.
And we started to walk home...and the Princess was fighting me again....and as I started to drag her out of the road AGAIN, I started to lose it and my husband picked her up to carry her.
I got home and sat in a chair. And I couldn't catch my breath. It felt like another anxiety attack, but I kept telling myself that it was because of the hill we have to walk up to get to our house. And tears fell from my eyes rather involuntarily. And my son asked if I was okay....which is so sweet and depressing at the same time....he shouldn't have to see me cry.
My husband went to his regular appointment with the bishop. And while I need and want him to attend those meetings....in that moment I didn't know how to be a mom of 3 kids.
I got some cereal. And I went downstairs to sit on the couch. I ate my cereal and felt like an addict. And I cried a little and felt pathetic. And I planned on writing this then, but didn't have time.
My husband came home right about then. He told me about his meeting with the bishop.
We talked. And I cried some more. We had one of those good talks. I felt so much better.
But I realized that "getting better" isn't a straight line from "bad" to "good." It's more of a zig-zag of ups and downs, bads and goods. The bads get gradually less bad and the goods get gradually more good. I thought that I was getting over it. I thought I was moving on. But I still have wounds that need to heal. And once in a while, salt or sand is going to get in there and irritate those wounds. Once and a while they are going to sting again.
I think my true healing is going to be when the little stings don't drive me to the dark place anymore.
My husband has been trying to get up early every day so that he can have some alone time to read scriptures or watch a quick TV show or just take an extra long shower or whatever before he gets to whatever he needs to get to during the day. On Sunday, he got up at that nice early time and went downstairs. That was the first thing.
I don't want to constantly beat him with the pornography stick, but that was my first thought. He left our bed and went downstairs. Alone. Where the computer is. He brought his iPad. He could be looking at pornography. But I need to trust him....even when I don't trust him. So I stayed in bed....a little bit miserable...checked Facebook and a few other things....and then got out of bed.
He came upstairs. We had a little tiff. Less than a tiff. It wasn't even a tiff. It was like a tf. He was just joking and didn't even realize that what he was saying was upsetting to me. He didn't even remember the conversation later. And really, the issue was a non-issue. I think in part he felt like he was just teasing me. I felt criticized. And my brain went to, "He's being a jerk...maybe he really did look at porn."
I got dressed and got down on my knees to pray. I really felt like I needed to. I didn't know why...I just really felt like I needed to. And at that moment, my son knocked on my bedroom door asking questions. I stopped my prayer, answered his questions, looked at the time, and rushed off to choir. I don't think my prayer was long enough or focused enough to really count.
I was late to choir and was already feeling isolated and sad. I had already taken a few steps down the road to the dark place, and from there, it is just a slippery slope.
When I got home, I was feeling frustrated. I went to my piano to "pound out my emotions." That's what I do. Music is my catharsis. I know it is a bit cliché...I have no training or particular skill....but sitting at my piano....playing and singing....it helps me. But on Sunday....something was off. I could hear it. The piano was not working right. It's broken. I was heartbroken.
I decided to make some herbal tea and get the diaper bag packed. And one thing after another started to break down. We were out of milk. The tea didn't turn out. The kids weren't ready. The Princess was crabby. My husband was not getting ready as quickly as I thought he should. And then I found out that, with 15 minutes before we were to go, he had just thrown his shirt into the washing machine. He though church started an hour later than it did. So we were going to be late no matter what. I pulled the shirt out before the spin cycle and threw it quickly into the dryer on Speed Dry. We got him dressed and ready to walk out the door when my oldest started to freak out about not having a Bible to bring. I tried to calmly explain that there was nothing we could do now. We could have done something an hour ago....but now it was too late, so he would have to go without. It ended with me yelling at him. As I was trying to get the Princess's coat on her, I heard him telling the same thing to my husband. I interrupted and yelled again.
We were finally on our way to church....even if I had to literally drag the Princess the whole way because she kept running out in front of cars but absolutely refused to hold my hand.
Except the main meeting hall was full. And the back was full, too. And the gym had been opened up and some chairs placed there. And those were all full, too. And the foyer was occupied by another family that was apparently also late.
And by this time, I was swallowed whole by the dark place.
Sunday school was fine. Relief Society was boring. A lady behind me kept hounding me to look at some book so that I can help her with some project that I don't really want to help her with...but I told her I would because sometimes I don't know how to say "no." And after the closing prayer was said, the primary president walked in....and I realized that I had forgotten that my son was supposed to have given a talk. And I felt like dirt.
And we started to walk home...and the Princess was fighting me again....and as I started to drag her out of the road AGAIN, I started to lose it and my husband picked her up to carry her.
I got home and sat in a chair. And I couldn't catch my breath. It felt like another anxiety attack, but I kept telling myself that it was because of the hill we have to walk up to get to our house. And tears fell from my eyes rather involuntarily. And my son asked if I was okay....which is so sweet and depressing at the same time....he shouldn't have to see me cry.
My husband went to his regular appointment with the bishop. And while I need and want him to attend those meetings....in that moment I didn't know how to be a mom of 3 kids.
I got some cereal. And I went downstairs to sit on the couch. I ate my cereal and felt like an addict. And I cried a little and felt pathetic. And I planned on writing this then, but didn't have time.
My husband came home right about then. He told me about his meeting with the bishop.
We talked. And I cried some more. We had one of those good talks. I felt so much better.
But I realized that "getting better" isn't a straight line from "bad" to "good." It's more of a zig-zag of ups and downs, bads and goods. The bads get gradually less bad and the goods get gradually more good. I thought that I was getting over it. I thought I was moving on. But I still have wounds that need to heal. And once in a while, salt or sand is going to get in there and irritate those wounds. Once and a while they are going to sting again.
I think my true healing is going to be when the little stings don't drive me to the dark place anymore.
Thursday, January 22, 2015
Bad Days and Great Days
Every so often in one's life, the stars align, the planets coordinate, everything just works out to give you a truly great day. Yesterday, for my family, it was just a really great day. It was the kind of day that you dream of....the kind of day shown in movies with the phrase "happily ever after" appearing across the screen. The children were happy and polite and willing to help. Dinner turned out really well. My husband came home earlier than expected. Scouts was moved from its normal location across town to the chapel just down the block from me (so that my son could walk rather than me driving him to and from). The princess went to bed early and without fight. The middle child was given lots of attention and love. And a friend asked if I was interested in trading a few hours of babysitting today (ie, she would watch my youngest in the morning and I would watch her youngest in the afternoon). I went to bed feeling accomplished and happy and content.
In The Alchemist by Paul Coelho, Melchizedek tells Santiago "The Soul of the World is nourished by people's happiness...And, when you want something, all the universe conspires in helping you to achieve it." I believe that when you want for good things, God will help you to achieve them.
I think my family has spent so much time living a life of complacency....not getting better but not getting worse. We were good. We weren't bad. But we were dead in the water. Each day was about the same as the last. We had fun and we had fights, but those were moments that didn't much affect the outcomes.
In the Book of Mormon, the prophet Alma talks about how, in this life, we need the bad to appreciate the good. Without vice, there could be no virtue. And without the bitter, we could not know the sweet.
I've heard it debated ad nauseum whether one could truly be grateful for their trials...for the bad things in life...because no one really wants to have to go through the bad things even if it does eventually bring good. Does anyone really *want* to have to exercise to be thin or to work to get money or repent to be forgiven? No. But on the other hand, right now I am grateful for my trials because I am grateful for the opportunity to be woken up. I'm grateful for my little family. And hopefully, these experiences will give us the knowledge and wisdom we need to stop this cycle.
I work on computers. That is my profession and hobby and skill set. It's not what I went to school for, but I picked it up along the way. In my work, I would say that about 85% of all software problems that I worked on were caused by pornography, pirating, or both. The other 15% is what we affectionately refer to as "I-D-10-T Errors." In the past, whenever I have discussed computer safety with groups, either as a commenter or a lecturer, I've often quipped "Whether it happens in a backseat, a dark alley, or online, when it comes to sexual sin, you're probably walking away with a virus." I thought I knew so much. But I know now how ignorant I really have been. How naïve. Not that I was wrong...I just didn't have as much of the picture as I thought I did.
I see the signs in hindsight now. I see the signs in others, too. I think my father-in-law has a problem, though he will never get help because of the shame associated with it. I know that at least a few of my brothers-in-law have problems. Some have gotten help; other haven't. Is it like alcoholism where the tendency is at least somewhat genetic? Does the fact that my husband's family has a problem with this in at least the immediate past predetermine the same struggle in my sons? I don't know. I'm afraid for them. But despite at least 150 years of known alcoholics in my family tree, I have broken the cycle. And whether or not there is a genetic component to this, my sons are going to be tempted. Pornography is everywhere, and it is more readily available than it ever has before. It has the ability to be completely anonymous. There is no need to visit strip clubs where you can be seen or to walk into a grocery store where a cashier will look you in the eye while you hand her your cash. It isn't just free, it is abundant! It doesn't wait for you to seek it out; it seeks *you* out and draws you in. And I realize now that I can't just put up the barricades and hope that my sons can avoid it until they are old enough to know better. I need to teach them the dangers so that they are willing to set up the barricades themselves. I need to teach them that it is a sin, but it is also forgivable. I need to teach them that just like everything else; lying, cheating, theft, and forgetting to say your prayers; it is forgivable. "For all have fallen short of the glory of God."
I went to the temple today. That's what I did with my kid-free morning. I could have tackled the mountain of laundry downstairs, or I could have gone to breakfast with my husband. But I think I needed to go to the House of my Father. I needed to spend some time in service of my fellow man and drinking in His Spirit. Today has been a bit of a frustrating day. The dog is driving me insane, and the Princess desperately needs a nap....but I feel so much more hope today than I have in a while. I do not fear. As Nephi says, I do not know the truth of all things, nevertheless, I know that God loveth His children (paraphrased). I hope for good things. And I have faith that as a child of the true and living and loving God, He will move mountains in helping me to achieve those good things. I can't say I know it...I can't say that I deserve it...but I have faith....I have hope....and it took a bad day and a great day for that seed of faith to sprout.
In The Alchemist by Paul Coelho, Melchizedek tells Santiago "The Soul of the World is nourished by people's happiness...And, when you want something, all the universe conspires in helping you to achieve it." I believe that when you want for good things, God will help you to achieve them.
I think my family has spent so much time living a life of complacency....not getting better but not getting worse. We were good. We weren't bad. But we were dead in the water. Each day was about the same as the last. We had fun and we had fights, but those were moments that didn't much affect the outcomes.
In the Book of Mormon, the prophet Alma talks about how, in this life, we need the bad to appreciate the good. Without vice, there could be no virtue. And without the bitter, we could not know the sweet.
I've heard it debated ad nauseum whether one could truly be grateful for their trials...for the bad things in life...because no one really wants to have to go through the bad things even if it does eventually bring good. Does anyone really *want* to have to exercise to be thin or to work to get money or repent to be forgiven? No. But on the other hand, right now I am grateful for my trials because I am grateful for the opportunity to be woken up. I'm grateful for my little family. And hopefully, these experiences will give us the knowledge and wisdom we need to stop this cycle.
I work on computers. That is my profession and hobby and skill set. It's not what I went to school for, but I picked it up along the way. In my work, I would say that about 85% of all software problems that I worked on were caused by pornography, pirating, or both. The other 15% is what we affectionately refer to as "I-D-10-T Errors." In the past, whenever I have discussed computer safety with groups, either as a commenter or a lecturer, I've often quipped "Whether it happens in a backseat, a dark alley, or online, when it comes to sexual sin, you're probably walking away with a virus." I thought I knew so much. But I know now how ignorant I really have been. How naïve. Not that I was wrong...I just didn't have as much of the picture as I thought I did.
I see the signs in hindsight now. I see the signs in others, too. I think my father-in-law has a problem, though he will never get help because of the shame associated with it. I know that at least a few of my brothers-in-law have problems. Some have gotten help; other haven't. Is it like alcoholism where the tendency is at least somewhat genetic? Does the fact that my husband's family has a problem with this in at least the immediate past predetermine the same struggle in my sons? I don't know. I'm afraid for them. But despite at least 150 years of known alcoholics in my family tree, I have broken the cycle. And whether or not there is a genetic component to this, my sons are going to be tempted. Pornography is everywhere, and it is more readily available than it ever has before. It has the ability to be completely anonymous. There is no need to visit strip clubs where you can be seen or to walk into a grocery store where a cashier will look you in the eye while you hand her your cash. It isn't just free, it is abundant! It doesn't wait for you to seek it out; it seeks *you* out and draws you in. And I realize now that I can't just put up the barricades and hope that my sons can avoid it until they are old enough to know better. I need to teach them the dangers so that they are willing to set up the barricades themselves. I need to teach them that it is a sin, but it is also forgivable. I need to teach them that just like everything else; lying, cheating, theft, and forgetting to say your prayers; it is forgivable. "For all have fallen short of the glory of God."
I went to the temple today. That's what I did with my kid-free morning. I could have tackled the mountain of laundry downstairs, or I could have gone to breakfast with my husband. But I think I needed to go to the House of my Father. I needed to spend some time in service of my fellow man and drinking in His Spirit. Today has been a bit of a frustrating day. The dog is driving me insane, and the Princess desperately needs a nap....but I feel so much more hope today than I have in a while. I do not fear. As Nephi says, I do not know the truth of all things, nevertheless, I know that God loveth His children (paraphrased). I hope for good things. And I have faith that as a child of the true and living and loving God, He will move mountains in helping me to achieve those good things. I can't say I know it...I can't say that I deserve it...but I have faith....I have hope....and it took a bad day and a great day for that seed of faith to sprout.
Wednesday, January 21, 2015
Casting Out the Fears
It has been 10 days. 10 roller coaster days. It's funny that I feel more close and more intensely in love with my husband than I ever have. And I crave it. I want to hold him in the night and to touch him during the day. I felt so alone for those first few days, and it was awful. I don't want to ever have to feel that way again. "It is not good that man should be alone." Women shouldn't be alone, either.
The nightmares have stopped. I haven't had one for 4 days.
Sometimes I think of it...sometimes I can't get it out of my head. Sometimes I allow the fear to creep in....the fear that the confession was not the end...that the last incident will not be the last. Fear that it isn't a battle that can be won, but a battle that must continually be fought. And while I have forgiven him most completely, I can't help but know that this is not the first time that I have been asked to forgive him in this matter. And the thought necessarily follows, "How many offenses more will I be asked to forgive?" Of course, the answer comes immediately to my mind: I must forgive seventy times seven times...or, in other words, I must forgive as often as it takes.
All of the books and blogs recommend that in these early stages when communication is most open and raw that the rules and boundaries and consequences must be set. I hesitate to have this discussion with him because I don't want to go through all of this while assuming that it will be futile.
The other night, we laid together on the couch watching a movie. We talked lightly, and I felt the tears start to come to my eyes. I don't know what prompted it. They just came. And I whispered my little plea: "Please promise that you won't lie to me again." I know it hurts him, to know that he's hurt me. I don't know if I really *want* to know of incidences in the future...but I *need* to know that I can trust him. I hate thinking of how him having a separate bank account for his business could be a temptation and an opportunity for him to hide things from me. I hate the nervousness that grows in my stomach every time he heads toward the basement. I don't want to drag out the subject. I don't want to beat the dead horse. But I need promises. I need assurances. I need some security.
The Bible says "Perfect love casteth out all fear." And I don't want to be afraid anymore. So the logical conclusion is that I need to strengthen my love for him and for God. I "am darkness" but "can be made light in the Lord."
The answer is so simple. The answer is love.
The nightmares have stopped. I haven't had one for 4 days.
Sometimes I think of it...sometimes I can't get it out of my head. Sometimes I allow the fear to creep in....the fear that the confession was not the end...that the last incident will not be the last. Fear that it isn't a battle that can be won, but a battle that must continually be fought. And while I have forgiven him most completely, I can't help but know that this is not the first time that I have been asked to forgive him in this matter. And the thought necessarily follows, "How many offenses more will I be asked to forgive?" Of course, the answer comes immediately to my mind: I must forgive seventy times seven times...or, in other words, I must forgive as often as it takes.
All of the books and blogs recommend that in these early stages when communication is most open and raw that the rules and boundaries and consequences must be set. I hesitate to have this discussion with him because I don't want to go through all of this while assuming that it will be futile.
The other night, we laid together on the couch watching a movie. We talked lightly, and I felt the tears start to come to my eyes. I don't know what prompted it. They just came. And I whispered my little plea: "Please promise that you won't lie to me again." I know it hurts him, to know that he's hurt me. I don't know if I really *want* to know of incidences in the future...but I *need* to know that I can trust him. I hate thinking of how him having a separate bank account for his business could be a temptation and an opportunity for him to hide things from me. I hate the nervousness that grows in my stomach every time he heads toward the basement. I don't want to drag out the subject. I don't want to beat the dead horse. But I need promises. I need assurances. I need some security.
The Bible says "Perfect love casteth out all fear." And I don't want to be afraid anymore. So the logical conclusion is that I need to strengthen my love for him and for God. I "am darkness" but "can be made light in the Lord."
The answer is so simple. The answer is love.
Thursday, January 15, 2015
Seeking My Father in Heaven
I am past the storms for now. The last week has been tumultuous and exhausting and emotional...but it needed to be done. And now I am wondering what comes next. My life has to change. I can't be the same person I was a week ago. Things cannot be better unless they change. And I want things to be better. I don't want to go back to the way things were...I don't want to be complacent and in a way complicit in my husband's sin. And in order for that to happen, I need to be a partner and helpmeet....not just a roommate.
I need to start with me. It's that old analogy of the oxygen masks in the airplane...you have to put your own mask on first before you try to help others with theirs. I need to be a better person before I can be a better wife....and I need to be a better wife before I can do anything to help my husband be a better anything.
So I've decided that I'm going to be more studious in my reading of this website; a support guide for spouses of pornography addicts. And I'm going to be writing each day about what I've studied.
Principle 1: God will console us in our afflictions.
One of the study helps was this talk by Thomas S. Monson. Much of it is another one of those stories...the ones that always make me think "I wish God loved me that way..."...but this part stood out to me:
I'm not sure how to find the balance. There I a woman in my neighborhood who, though quite sincere in her way, seems so misguided as she credits "the Holy Spirit" for her every whim! Saying things like "I didn't feel like going to my volunteer shift at the school and I figured, if the Spirit was telling me not to go, then I shouldn't go!" seems to be against the nature of how I believe the Spirit to operate. On the other hand, there was my father who only rarely prayed over his meals at home but was always sure to make a spectacle of our family praying over our Happy Meals every time we went to McDonalds! And in the third corner has always been me...trying to hide my candle under a bushel and constantly snuffing it out. It is a battle. And its about time I learned that the hiding of the candle in the first place is what is causing so many of the problems!
So my goal is to first to be more comfortable in prayer. I want to make my first impulse to be prayer. "When it becomes too difficult to stand, kneel."
Even writing this is difficult for me. I don't anticipate anyone will read it ever...but I feel that old uncomfortable stirring in my chest...almost a fight or flight response. I feel vulnerable. But I need to know that God loves me. I need it in my life. I need to feel like I deserve to be happy. Otherwise, it's too easy to be miserable.
I need to start with me. It's that old analogy of the oxygen masks in the airplane...you have to put your own mask on first before you try to help others with theirs. I need to be a better person before I can be a better wife....and I need to be a better wife before I can do anything to help my husband be a better anything.
So I've decided that I'm going to be more studious in my reading of this website; a support guide for spouses of pornography addicts. And I'm going to be writing each day about what I've studied.
Principle 1: God will console us in our afflictions.
One of the study helps was this talk by Thomas S. Monson. Much of it is another one of those stories...the ones that always make me think "I wish God loved me that way..."...but this part stood out to me:
I know that my ability to pray has always been someone weak...with frequency ebbing and waning depending on my circumstances. I don't have the overt spirituality that some have. I was never comfortable with the hypocritical spirituality (if you can call it that) exuded by my parents only when it was convenient...and so I learned to hide whatever spirituality I have ever possessed. I have no desire to be lauded as a great, wonderful, super spiritual person. But I need to learn to be more comfortable with being a spiritual person at all....in an emotional and metaphysical way...not just an intellectual way."There will be times when you will walk a path strewn with thorns and marked by struggle. There may be times when you feel detached—even isolated—from the Giver of every good gift. You worry that you walk alone. Fear replaces faith. When you find yourself in such circumstances, I plead with you to remember prayer...President Ezra Taft Benson...Said, 'All through my life the counsel to depend on prayer has been prized above almost any other advice I have … received. It has become an integral part of me—an anchor, a constant source of strength, and the basis of my knowledge of things divine… Though reverses come, in prayer we can find reassurance, for God will speak peace to the soul. That peace, that spirit of serenity, is life’s greatest blessing.'"
I'm not sure how to find the balance. There I a woman in my neighborhood who, though quite sincere in her way, seems so misguided as she credits "the Holy Spirit" for her every whim! Saying things like "I didn't feel like going to my volunteer shift at the school and I figured, if the Spirit was telling me not to go, then I shouldn't go!" seems to be against the nature of how I believe the Spirit to operate. On the other hand, there was my father who only rarely prayed over his meals at home but was always sure to make a spectacle of our family praying over our Happy Meals every time we went to McDonalds! And in the third corner has always been me...trying to hide my candle under a bushel and constantly snuffing it out. It is a battle. And its about time I learned that the hiding of the candle in the first place is what is causing so many of the problems!
So my goal is to first to be more comfortable in prayer. I want to make my first impulse to be prayer. "When it becomes too difficult to stand, kneel."
Even writing this is difficult for me. I don't anticipate anyone will read it ever...but I feel that old uncomfortable stirring in my chest...almost a fight or flight response. I feel vulnerable. But I need to know that God loves me. I need it in my life. I need to feel like I deserve to be happy. Otherwise, it's too easy to be miserable.
Wednesday, January 14, 2015
On Faith and Nightmares
I love books. I have always loved books, and I have always been an avid and somewhat advanced reader. I read The Count of Monte Cristo for the first time (unabridged) in 2nd grade. I was cast in my first Shakespearean play when I was 10 and had to explain the script to the rest of the mostly adult cast. I have books overflowing every room in my house. I stash them under my bed and in the dresser and in my purse. I have no less than 3 audiobooks downloaded through our library's online app right now. I love books. I have an obsession with books. I find refuge in books.
I'm also a little OCD about my books. I'm not OCD in the way other people are....I think dog-earing is an indication of love and use. I don't care if the spines are creased (how else are you supposed to read it?) or if people mark up the books or write in their margins. I'm not prejudiced against digital copies or audio book or think that classics are necessarily better than modern novels. I'll read any genre or sub-genre that someone recommends to me. I'll try any author without regard to target audience. But I do insist that:
Okay, so I've digressed quite a bit...partly because background information can be important...and partly because the things I lately I've felt an inability to connect to the things that I love...I've felt rather empty the last few day...but even when I feel empty...I love books. And right now...it feels good to love something...to be passionate about it without a sick feeling in my stomach. So I've indulged myself and gone on and on and on about books...
...now to the real point...
A while ago I started the Left Behind series. The first few books were really great but it quickly began to drag. I pressed on, though....because I have rules, standards, gosh darn it! I pushed through all 12 books.
The last book is about Christ's return to the Earth to reign. In the book, Christ speaks to the mind of each individual....as if He knows them individually....as if He is concerned with each of their individual concerns. As a Christian, I've always known this and believed it....that Christ loves each person on the earth....that we have individual worth because He believes we do....that we are children of a King and are not just His subjects, but His family.
I know these things intellectually and freely believe them about other people. So why was I having such a hard time swallowing the book's portrayal of it? Why did this part of the story make me so uncomfortable?
And suddenly, I realized what my problem was. I didn't believe that it applied to me. I have no problem believing it in regards to other people....but I didn't have a testimony that God loves ME individually. I didn't have a testimony that I have individual worth. I didn't believe that He died for me...I believe He lived and died and lived again.....but I think He did it for someone else....I still struggle with this.
A little while later, I was at a Women's Conference. They showed a video made by women in the area. It was amazing and beautiful. But one woman in particular got to me. She told her story of how when she was pregnant with her 4th child, she started having seizures. No one knew why. After having the baby, she continued to have seizures, and still, some of the best doctors in the world had no idea why. She wasn't able to drive or take her kids anywhere without help. She couldn't risk long flights of stairs or to hold her baby without sitting on the floor. She woke up one morning and said a prayer in her mind. "Heavenly Father....I just can't do it today. I just don't have the strength. I just can't do it today." And then the doorbell rang. Standing on the doorstep was a person from the neighborhood. They didn't know each other very well, just casually. But this person said to her, "Hi! I was wondering if I could play with your kids today? I just felt like that's what I should spend my day doing!"
And again, the thought came into my mind, that wouldn't happen to me. God doesn't love me that way.
It's a surprising thing to realize that you don't believe in love in your life. But it makes sense. It explains so much of my life...how I've felt or reacted to things. I thought it again the other day, as I laid in bed....sad....feeling so alone...."I wish God loved me that way. I could really use it today."
When I was a child, I really connected with the Footprints poem. I know it's cheesy....but it touched me when I was young. I loved the idea that someday I would look back at my life and see all of the low points where I was carried by the Lord. The truth of the matter is that we need low points in our lives to learn to let Him carry us. And I'm not good at letting people carry me. And despite all of that...I have been carried....I have been loved...my strength is not my own...and I need to learn to let my gratitude overcome my fears and sorrows.
After reading through that particular web page, I again sat down at my piano...that place that has always been my catharsis...I opened up my hymnal and started to play LDS Hymn #166....and I understood the words deeper than I ever had before...
Last night, my husband came back up to sleep in our room once again. I don't want to punish him. I do forgive him. I forgive him....but I'm still afraid of what our future holds. I had nightmares again...not about him directly this time....not about pornography or infidelity....I had nightmares about rats and other things. Freud would probably say its related. I think its related somehow, too. I don't know how long the nightmares will last. I don't know how to make them stop. I don't know how to assuage my fears. I don't know how to increase my faith or to make things better.
My husband says that nothing has changed....that everything that has happened before this was real. But everything feels different. And maybe that's a good thing. Because things need to be different. We need to be different. Because we need to be the couple that beats this. Things can't stay the same. I need to have hope that the light at the end of the tunnel is the sky and not a train.
I'm also a little OCD about my books. I'm not OCD in the way other people are....I think dog-earing is an indication of love and use. I don't care if the spines are creased (how else are you supposed to read it?) or if people mark up the books or write in their margins. I'm not prejudiced against digital copies or audio book or think that classics are necessarily better than modern novels. I'll read any genre or sub-genre that someone recommends to me. I'll try any author without regard to target audience. But I do insist that:
- a book, if started, must always be read to completion
- if there is a series, it must not be touched until the series is complete and all books in the series are available
- all books in the series must be read in order to completion, regardless of the quality of the previous books in the series.
Okay, so I've digressed quite a bit...partly because background information can be important...and partly because the things I lately I've felt an inability to connect to the things that I love...I've felt rather empty the last few day...but even when I feel empty...I love books. And right now...it feels good to love something...to be passionate about it without a sick feeling in my stomach. So I've indulged myself and gone on and on and on about books...
...now to the real point...
A while ago I started the Left Behind series. The first few books were really great but it quickly began to drag. I pressed on, though....because I have rules, standards, gosh darn it! I pushed through all 12 books.
The last book is about Christ's return to the Earth to reign. In the book, Christ speaks to the mind of each individual....as if He knows them individually....as if He is concerned with each of their individual concerns. As a Christian, I've always known this and believed it....that Christ loves each person on the earth....that we have individual worth because He believes we do....that we are children of a King and are not just His subjects, but His family.
I know these things intellectually and freely believe them about other people. So why was I having such a hard time swallowing the book's portrayal of it? Why did this part of the story make me so uncomfortable?
And suddenly, I realized what my problem was. I didn't believe that it applied to me. I have no problem believing it in regards to other people....but I didn't have a testimony that God loves ME individually. I didn't have a testimony that I have individual worth. I didn't believe that He died for me...I believe He lived and died and lived again.....but I think He did it for someone else....I still struggle with this.
A little while later, I was at a Women's Conference. They showed a video made by women in the area. It was amazing and beautiful. But one woman in particular got to me. She told her story of how when she was pregnant with her 4th child, she started having seizures. No one knew why. After having the baby, she continued to have seizures, and still, some of the best doctors in the world had no idea why. She wasn't able to drive or take her kids anywhere without help. She couldn't risk long flights of stairs or to hold her baby without sitting on the floor. She woke up one morning and said a prayer in her mind. "Heavenly Father....I just can't do it today. I just don't have the strength. I just can't do it today." And then the doorbell rang. Standing on the doorstep was a person from the neighborhood. They didn't know each other very well, just casually. But this person said to her, "Hi! I was wondering if I could play with your kids today? I just felt like that's what I should spend my day doing!"
And again, the thought came into my mind, that wouldn't happen to me. God doesn't love me that way.
It's a surprising thing to realize that you don't believe in love in your life. But it makes sense. It explains so much of my life...how I've felt or reacted to things. I thought it again the other day, as I laid in bed....sad....feeling so alone...."I wish God loved me that way. I could really use it today."
I was reading here. And a few things stuck out to me.
President Thomas S. Monson taught, “Again, my brothers and sisters, our Heavenly Father is aware of our needs and will help us as we call upon Him for assistance. I believe that no concern of ours is too small or insignificant. The Lord is in the details of our lives” (“Consider the Blessings,” Ensign or Liahona, Nov. 2012, 88).God is in the detail of our lives. I thought about all of the ways I have been blessed. I have been abundantly blessed. I have been blessed as I followed the commandments of my God, and I have been blessed in the low points of my life.
When I was a child, I really connected with the Footprints poem. I know it's cheesy....but it touched me when I was young. I loved the idea that someday I would look back at my life and see all of the low points where I was carried by the Lord. The truth of the matter is that we need low points in our lives to learn to let Him carry us. And I'm not good at letting people carry me. And despite all of that...I have been carried....I have been loved...my strength is not my own...and I need to learn to let my gratitude overcome my fears and sorrows.
In spite of our efforts, there may be times when we feel alone and that God is not hearing our pleas. However, He is there blessing us even when things may appear hopeless. The Lord has promised that He will never abandon us. “But, behold, Zion hath said: The Lord hath forsaken me, and my Lord hath forgotten me—but he will show that he hath not...O house of Israel. Behold, I have graven thee upon the palms of my hands; thy walls are continually before me” (1 Nephi 21:14–16).I need to have more faith in His love...even when I feel alone, He knows me. He sees me. He desires to wipe away my tears and give me of His love. For me, I could see His hand as I read of people who have gone through this before who have taken the time to write about their experiences and publish it online. I realized what a great blessing that has been for me. I don't know if anyone else will ever read what I am writing now, today or tomorrow or in the future....but I hope that if they do....I hope they know that they can always have a friend in me. Please reach out. Because I know that God loves you....and YOU ARE NOT ALONE.
After reading through that particular web page, I again sat down at my piano...that place that has always been my catharsis...I opened up my hymnal and started to play LDS Hymn #166....and I understood the words deeper than I ever had before...
"Abide with me! Fast falls the eventide; The darkness deepens, Lord, with me abide! When other helpers fail and comfort flee, help of the helpless, oh, abide with me!
"Swift to its close ebbs out life's little day. Earth's joys grow dim; its glories pass away. Change and decay in all around I see; O thou who changest not, abide with me!The author's plea was my plea! I felt like I was being consumed by the darkness, begging God to hear me and to save me! I felt alone and helpless. I felt sad, unable to find joy in anything. I felt like all of the good in the world had collapsed and eroded. And amid it all, I had the constant plea in my heart for God to hold me in His arms.
"I need thy presence every passing hour. What but thy grace can foil the tempters power? Who, like thyself, my guide and stay can be? Thru cloud and sunshine, Lord, abide with me!"I think my biggest problem, though, is the problem of so many others...I turn to God more often when I am suffering than when I am doing well. But I need Him "thru cloud AND sunshine." I need to allow God to "be in the details" of my life.
Last night, my husband came back up to sleep in our room once again. I don't want to punish him. I do forgive him. I forgive him....but I'm still afraid of what our future holds. I had nightmares again...not about him directly this time....not about pornography or infidelity....I had nightmares about rats and other things. Freud would probably say its related. I think its related somehow, too. I don't know how long the nightmares will last. I don't know how to make them stop. I don't know how to assuage my fears. I don't know how to increase my faith or to make things better.
My husband says that nothing has changed....that everything that has happened before this was real. But everything feels different. And maybe that's a good thing. Because things need to be different. We need to be different. Because we need to be the couple that beats this. Things can't stay the same. I need to have hope that the light at the end of the tunnel is the sky and not a train.
Tuesday, January 13, 2015
A Break in the Clouds
Yesterday was a bad day. Amid all of my crying and blogging and reading and researching....there was real life....and it wasn't cooperating. The Princess was in a particularly foul mood, the boys were crying (because I forgot to pick them up and it was pouring rain), and my husband wasn't NOT speaking to me...but he wasn't really speaking to me.
At one point, I picked up the dog...wanting...needing something warm and affectionate...something living to stabilize my waves of emotion....and the dog whimpered until it got away only to resume its previous spot just out of my reach.
I felt like it was a metaphor for my life...the dog abandoning me at my time of greatest need. I had another panic attack and cried out for God to make me feel better.
The evening was silent and miserable. My husband came home exactly on time and retreated to the basement where he has been hiding out. He didn't look at me. I made excuses to go down there....to be in the right position for him to start talking to me. He didn't. I went to bed. I cried. I read. I watched a movie. I went to sleep. And I had nightmares again.
I woke up just as miserable. The nightmares did nothing to help calm me down. I had a frustrating morning getting the boys ready for school. I was angry. I was frustrated. I was curled up in a ball on the bed weeping silently. My husband walked into the room and into the bathroom without looking at me. He showered and dressed in the bathroom. He left. I was devastated.
I decided to read some more of a blog that I had discovered last night. It's here. I went back to her first posts and started reading. She is amazing. Her words are amazing. She has a much better attitude and perspective than I have. So this morning, as I was laying in bed, crying, the boys were on track to be late for school, the Princess was angry that she could no longer wear her favorite PJ pants....and my husband was sitting in the living room waiting for the bus to show up and take him to work....that's when I read this post. And something really struck me:
At one point, I picked up the dog...wanting...needing something warm and affectionate...something living to stabilize my waves of emotion....and the dog whimpered until it got away only to resume its previous spot just out of my reach.
I felt like it was a metaphor for my life...the dog abandoning me at my time of greatest need. I had another panic attack and cried out for God to make me feel better.
The evening was silent and miserable. My husband came home exactly on time and retreated to the basement where he has been hiding out. He didn't look at me. I made excuses to go down there....to be in the right position for him to start talking to me. He didn't. I went to bed. I cried. I read. I watched a movie. I went to sleep. And I had nightmares again.
I woke up just as miserable. The nightmares did nothing to help calm me down. I had a frustrating morning getting the boys ready for school. I was angry. I was frustrated. I was curled up in a ball on the bed weeping silently. My husband walked into the room and into the bathroom without looking at me. He showered and dressed in the bathroom. He left. I was devastated.
I decided to read some more of a blog that I had discovered last night. It's here. I went back to her first posts and started reading. She is amazing. Her words are amazing. She has a much better attitude and perspective than I have. So this morning, as I was laying in bed, crying, the boys were on track to be late for school, the Princess was angry that she could no longer wear her favorite PJ pants....and my husband was sitting in the living room waiting for the bus to show up and take him to work....that's when I read this post. And something really struck me:
"God doesn't take away our fears and doubts and anger [and self-pity], we must choose to give them up. And in the process we make room for the peace we were after all along...the Peace that was already there."
How much of my sadness was I choosing? How much of my bad day and night and morning were a direct result of my choosing to wallow? And why should I choose to wallow when I can do something about it?
I didn't want to be sad anymore. And waiting for my husband to do something about that is a waste of time. This is MY marriage. And so I needed to do something about it.
So I got out of bed. I got dressed. I went into the living room and started giving orders. I would be giving my husband a ride to work. I would be giving the boys a ride to school. And the Princess would get to wear her beloved jacket and a pretty princess dress. And that was the end of it.
I didn't want to be sad anymore. And waiting for my husband to do something about that is a waste of time. This is MY marriage. And so I needed to do something about it.
So I got out of bed. I got dressed. I went into the living room and started giving orders. I would be giving my husband a ride to work. I would be giving the boys a ride to school. And the Princess would get to wear her beloved jacket and a pretty princess dress. And that was the end of it.
After we had dropped off the boys, my husband asked why I wanted to give him a ride. I told him that I was sad and lonely and I didn't want to feel that way anymore. I told him that if he wasn't going to talk to me at home at least he could not talk to me while we sat in a car in the middle of rush hour traffic.
And so we talked.
I cried.
He cried a little.
He told me about learning to hide and lie about things as a child to avoid shame. I asked questions that he didn't really want to answer. He told me things I didn't really want to ask about. But it was good. He said he was lonely, too....that he missed me. He told me he thought I wanted space. He asked if he needed to sleep on the couch downstairs anymore. I said that I had never asked him to. He said he did it because he thought I would want him to. I said that I knew why he did it.
I told him about my fears and why I was sad. I told him I loved him and that I wasn't angry with him....that he was forgiven. I told him about my lack of trust and he didn't argue. I apologized because I knew that telling him these things would hurt him.
We had a good day. He skipped work and spent it with me and we talked more. We went to Ikea and Hobby Lobby and Fiiz (because obviously my diet has been annihilated for this week).
I'm still scared. And I know that there will be hard times ahead for us. But today was a good day. And I need to learn to be grateful for the good days.
Today the dog is cuddled up against my leg. It's still a metaphor...because it's a step. He's no longer out of reach. It's not everything....but its something....and I'll take it.
Monday, January 12, 2015
My Story; Part 3: It Hits the Fan
2 days ago, my husband confessed to me that he had a continuing pornography problem. What he had once told me was an easily stopped and long since resolved issue that happened maybe once per month had continued through 10 1/2 years of marriage, 3 children, 2 moves, and who knows how many electronic devices. I was devastated.
I think of myself as a fairly rational person. I don't think anyone would describe me as particularly emotional. I like logic and reason because they make sense. Emotions frighten me. They don't make sense. They can't be reasoned away or forced into existence. We can foster certain emotions and try to replace others....but for the most part....emotional responses are immediate and uncontrollable.
I had an immediate and uncontrollable response: I went into damage control mode. I stopped looking at him. I asked very few questions (among them how often and since when), and I laid out my list of demands.
That night, we watched a movie together. And I'm not completely sure what happened inside of me....but as soon as the movie ended....I got up, and I left. I left the room, went upstairs to the bedroom, laid down and went to sleep. He didn't follow me. I didn't ask him to. I didn't ask him not to. I'm not sure what I wanted.
The next day was Sunday, and there were a lot of thoughts going through my head at this point. He had an early meeting and I had kids to get ready for church. And when everyone was clean and shiny and ready to go, we still had some time. So I do what I always do when I am on the verge of any major emotion: I sat down at the piano.
And that's when the walls that I have built up to protect myself started to crack.
What do I do? What does this mean? I know what pornography is. I know why it is bad. I find it disgusting and base and abhorrent. But that isn't why I am hurt. That isn't why I feel violated. Yes, it is a type of cheating. Yes, I could walk down that whole road....but that isn't why I am feeling what I am feeling.
He lied. He lied repeatedly. He lied consistently over the course of 10 years. And yeah, he's promising to change, but I've heard **THAT** song before!
Bastard.
He lied.
And he says he has never lied to me about anything else...but isn't that what liars do? They lie about lying!? How can I trust anything?
He says he was afraid. He says it took him 3 days to get up the courage to tell me. I checked his computer. 3 days is about right. 9:59p on Wednesday night is when he deleted his browsing history....bastard. He couldn't even have the common decency to leave it there so that I could know what I was competing with.
I feel violated.
And I know that part of the repentance process is confession. And that the purpose of repentance is to help lighten our souls of the burdens of sin. But I resent that he looks so happy when I feel like crap.
And I had to stop myself because I couldn't do that to myself at church....with all of those people looking at me...not because they would judge me....but because I didn't want to have to explain. It's not my sin to confess and he shouldn't be judged by them.
So I shut off again. I went to church and I felt robotic. But I was cracking and I couldn't hold it together....not all the way. I looked straight ahead when the tears over flowed from my eyes. I didn't wipe them away because I knew that would call attention to them. I just let them dry on my cheeks as I stared at the numbers indicating which hymns would be sung. I tried not to listen to the speakers because I had to be shut off. I had to stop the cracks. I had to be strong and push through.
I avoided most people. I sat in a corner and tried to keep my mouth shut. I overshared a bit and got a little emotional in Relief Society....but it was alright...no one seemed to notice much.
And I came home with a head ache...and a heart ache....
He went to his meeting with the bishop. And I tried to lay down for a nap. That's where I was when he came home.
He wanted to talk, but I told him I couldn't. I listened as he described his meeting with the bishop. It was good. They both cried. They had a plan. I'm glad for that.
He again said he wanted to talk to me. That he could see I was hurting and more than anything that is what hurts him the most.
And the walls started to crack again.
I didn't say any of those things to him. What I did tell him is how much I hate myself for being stupid...for allowing myself to turn into my mother. I hate myself for letting him break me. I hate that I'm suddenly completely alone with no one to talk to. I've got nothing. I don't have family or close friends...and normally that doesn't bother me...but I could really use someone to help keep me on my feet...to make excuses for me and to pick up some of my slack...just for a day....just a day for me to rest and regroup and figure out and prepare for whatever comes next.
You know...its funny because I feel hurt and I feel hopeless. And I teared up a little just typing that because that's how I feel....I wasn't able to identify the feeling before....but I feel hopeless. But I forgive him. I just hate that we have to now deal with all of the consequences of his actions. Its been 2 day and I'm already exhausted. I don't want to do it anymore. I don't want to worry about if I can trust him. I don't want to think about the disgusting things in his head. And I don't want to rebuild our relationship after he spent 10 years destroying it. I just don't want to do the work. My head hurts from crying. And when my eyes seem like they burn with how dry they are and I think I couldn't possibly cry anymore....I manage to produce fresh tears. I just feel hopeless.
I've cried in ways that I haven't cried since I was 16 and dateless and penniless and my father tried to kick me out. I feel like I am standing on that same precipice....like I've been climbing for so long only to find that there is nothing more except to fall off the cliff and start climbing a new mountain. And that sucks because now I'm not 16; I'm 30, and I come with a lot more baggage.
So now you are all caught up. That's my story so far. That's everything...all of the ugly details. And now I think I can start to heal.
I think of myself as a fairly rational person. I don't think anyone would describe me as particularly emotional. I like logic and reason because they make sense. Emotions frighten me. They don't make sense. They can't be reasoned away or forced into existence. We can foster certain emotions and try to replace others....but for the most part....emotional responses are immediate and uncontrollable.
I had an immediate and uncontrollable response: I went into damage control mode. I stopped looking at him. I asked very few questions (among them how often and since when), and I laid out my list of demands.
- Go see the bishop.
- Give me your iPad and allow me to set whatever restrictions I want on it.
- Give me access to your computer and allow me to set up parental controls and reporting software.
- Go fix something.
That night, we watched a movie together. And I'm not completely sure what happened inside of me....but as soon as the movie ended....I got up, and I left. I left the room, went upstairs to the bedroom, laid down and went to sleep. He didn't follow me. I didn't ask him to. I didn't ask him not to. I'm not sure what I wanted.
The next day was Sunday, and there were a lot of thoughts going through my head at this point. He had an early meeting and I had kids to get ready for church. And when everyone was clean and shiny and ready to go, we still had some time. So I do what I always do when I am on the verge of any major emotion: I sat down at the piano.
And that's when the walls that I have built up to protect myself started to crack.
What do I do? What does this mean? I know what pornography is. I know why it is bad. I find it disgusting and base and abhorrent. But that isn't why I am hurt. That isn't why I feel violated. Yes, it is a type of cheating. Yes, I could walk down that whole road....but that isn't why I am feeling what I am feeling.
He lied. He lied repeatedly. He lied consistently over the course of 10 years. And yeah, he's promising to change, but I've heard **THAT** song before!
Bastard.
He lied.
And he says he has never lied to me about anything else...but isn't that what liars do? They lie about lying!? How can I trust anything?
He says he was afraid. He says it took him 3 days to get up the courage to tell me. I checked his computer. 3 days is about right. 9:59p on Wednesday night is when he deleted his browsing history....bastard. He couldn't even have the common decency to leave it there so that I could know what I was competing with.
I feel violated.
And I know that part of the repentance process is confession. And that the purpose of repentance is to help lighten our souls of the burdens of sin. But I resent that he looks so happy when I feel like crap.
And I had to stop myself because I couldn't do that to myself at church....with all of those people looking at me...not because they would judge me....but because I didn't want to have to explain. It's not my sin to confess and he shouldn't be judged by them.
So I shut off again. I went to church and I felt robotic. But I was cracking and I couldn't hold it together....not all the way. I looked straight ahead when the tears over flowed from my eyes. I didn't wipe them away because I knew that would call attention to them. I just let them dry on my cheeks as I stared at the numbers indicating which hymns would be sung. I tried not to listen to the speakers because I had to be shut off. I had to stop the cracks. I had to be strong and push through.
I avoided most people. I sat in a corner and tried to keep my mouth shut. I overshared a bit and got a little emotional in Relief Society....but it was alright...no one seemed to notice much.
And I came home with a head ache...and a heart ache....
He went to his meeting with the bishop. And I tried to lay down for a nap. That's where I was when he came home.
He wanted to talk, but I told him I couldn't. I listened as he described his meeting with the bishop. It was good. They both cried. They had a plan. I'm glad for that.
He again said he wanted to talk to me. That he could see I was hurting and more than anything that is what hurts him the most.
And the walls started to crack again.
I told him that I didn't want to talk to him because I didn't want to say anything that would hurt him. I appreciate that he is trying to change and that he wants to be better....but I have a right to be hurt. I am justified in being angry. And there are thing that are going through my mind that would hurt him...things like:
- I don't know if I can be married to someone that lies to me.
- I think his habit is vile
- I don't trust him.
- I don't know how we could ever have sex again.
- I love him and I pity him but I hate him for his part in driving away the Spirit from our home.
- I don't want him to baptize our son.
- He has put me in a position where I no longer have access to the priesthood because I don't trust that he is worthy to exercise it but I can't ask anyone else for them to give me a blessing without betraying his secret.
- He lied. The bastard lied.
I didn't say any of those things to him. What I did tell him is how much I hate myself for being stupid...for allowing myself to turn into my mother. I hate myself for letting him break me. I hate that I'm suddenly completely alone with no one to talk to. I've got nothing. I don't have family or close friends...and normally that doesn't bother me...but I could really use someone to help keep me on my feet...to make excuses for me and to pick up some of my slack...just for a day....just a day for me to rest and regroup and figure out and prepare for whatever comes next.
You know...its funny because I feel hurt and I feel hopeless. And I teared up a little just typing that because that's how I feel....I wasn't able to identify the feeling before....but I feel hopeless. But I forgive him. I just hate that we have to now deal with all of the consequences of his actions. Its been 2 day and I'm already exhausted. I don't want to do it anymore. I don't want to worry about if I can trust him. I don't want to think about the disgusting things in his head. And I don't want to rebuild our relationship after he spent 10 years destroying it. I just don't want to do the work. My head hurts from crying. And when my eyes seem like they burn with how dry they are and I think I couldn't possibly cry anymore....I manage to produce fresh tears. I just feel hopeless.
I've cried in ways that I haven't cried since I was 16 and dateless and penniless and my father tried to kick me out. I feel like I am standing on that same precipice....like I've been climbing for so long only to find that there is nothing more except to fall off the cliff and start climbing a new mountain. And that sucks because now I'm not 16; I'm 30, and I come with a lot more baggage.
So now you are all caught up. That's my story so far. That's everything...all of the ugly details. And now I think I can start to heal.
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