Escaping Solitary

I'm amazed at how differently I've felt over the last week or so! Sunday was kind of an emotional day, but it wasn't bad. And I feel like I'm learning so much.

After my initial disclosure to a friend about what's been going on, I feel like a weight has been lifted. I know I've said it before, but I was litterally drowning in secrets and I couldn't breath....I couldn't withstand the weight of them. I talk to her for maybe 15 minutes on Facebook, and it made all the difference.

On Sunday, when Jonah was so emotional and upset, I told him how much it had helped me just to talk to somebody and not feel alone. I encouraged him to find someone to talk to, too....someone who might be going through or might have gone through the same thing. He mentioned a friend, and I encouraged him to make plans.

Tonight, he and, let's call him Chris, went to see a movie and get burgers. Jonah came home almost a different person. He was open and affectionate and said he was starting to realize what a horrible thing he had been engaged in. Chris encouraged Jonah to attend the church addiction recovery meetings and gave him a list of books to read. I'm so grateful for Chris and the support he is being. I haven't always been Chris's biggest cheerleader, but I'm very grateful for him right now.

I think the nature of sin is isolation. When we sin we isolate ourselves from others and from God. The guilt and shame that we feel only isolates us further. We feel alone and miserable, which is exactly how satan wants us to feel. Christ and His atonement help bring us back into the fold of God, help us be cleansed of our shame and our guilt and help us change for the better. It's an amazing feeling.

I have such a strong testimony of our Savior's love and grace. And so, in a way, I am grateful for this trial, because I've never appreciated Him in that way. I know that the light at the end of the tunnel is neither sunshine nor a train, it is the light of Christ; a light that can penetrate all darkness no matter how deeply ensconced in the darkness we are. It is incomparably far reaching and all encompassing. It can find us wherever we are, whether in the depths of despair or in the brightest moments of joy and happiness. It is love and hope.

I might have told this story before, but I was reading about the apostles in the boat after the feeding of the 5000. They had just witnessed an amazing miracle and listened to a beautiful discourse. And they get on the boat, and Christ goes in the back to take a nap. As the storm grows increasingly more ferocious, they panic and run about trying desperately to keep the boat upright and above water. The work feverishly until the very last moment when all is lost and they've all but given up. And in that moment they shake Jesus awake and yell at Him "are you content to let us die while you take a nap!?!" And in that moment, He walks calmly to the deck of the boat, looks around and says, "peace, be still," calming the raging waters almost instantly. 

The point the author was making is that we are often content to allow Christ to nap in the back of our lives, basically ignoring him but taking for granted that He is there. And even in the times of our trials, we do not turn to Him first. We fight and we dig in our heels and we do our best. It is only when we feel that all hope is lost that we find ourselves screaming in His face, "why aren't you doing anything!?! Are you content to let me die!?!" The truth is that He was there all along, silently aware, always loving and concerned, but waiting for us to ask. President Monson said that Christ is "in the details of our lives."

I hope that this lesson is a permanent one for me because I don't want to have to learn it again. But, I think more than anything, I have learned that Christ is there for me. And if I learn to accept Him and His aid on my good days, I won't find it so difficult to find Him on my bad days. 

I've never felt so much love from heaven than I have in the last few weeks. I've seen little miracles that aren't much, but exactly what I needed. Days when I didn't want to get out of bed, one of the kids' teachers would call and ask me to come help for the day. A friend who understood. And a mighty change of heart. Little things that make the day and week seem easier and shorter. Moments when you realize that you aren't alone....but that though the road is rough, someone is carrying you.

Breaking Hearts and Breaking Through

Yesterday, I went to a local women's conference where a woman named Sister Debbie Christensen spoke. Afterwards was a light lunch, and then I went to Costco for diapers. 

When I got home, Jonah didn't acknowledge me at all. He's been in his funk, so I wasn't surprised. I guess this is the pornography addicts version of the DDTs. Withdrawal is painful.

I've been reading a lot lately about codependency. When I first started reading about pornography addiction and looking for help and advice, that word popped up a lot....but I didn't know what it meant. But as I hit rock bottom, I think I've figured it out.

I think codependency means that I allow my happiness and mood to be dependent on his behavior. It's very common among women in general....but becomes a more exacerbated problem among wives of addicts. But the thing is, I can't control him. I can't control his attitude or behavior or his feelings. 

And when I went to the support group, the ladies there spoke about letting go....about deciding to heal and to be better and to be happy regardless of whether he chooses to be better or not. 

So I decided to detach. I'm tired of being miserable. I'm tired of being sad because of thugs that I can't control. I'm tired of varying around an umbrella just because he's standing in the rain.

I detached. I went about my day and I ignored him. I did laundry and listened to my book on tape and made dinner and took care of the kids. I wasn't rude or malicious. I just did my thing. And I stopped reaching out to him....because it's exhausting constantly reaching out to someone who doesn't reach back. And ever since d-day, that's how it's been. I've been reaching out for him desperately because I want to hold on to him. I want to possess him and I need to know that he wants and needs me....because if he doesn't want and need me...then there is more to the pornography issue than just hormones.

But he doesn't reach back. He said once that I love him more than he loves me. It was so hurtful for him to say...but I think it's true. And a relationship like that is not healthy.

That's what pornography does. Orgasm produces the same hormones as a hug. Every time he has an orgasm in front of a computer, it creates those feelings of comfort and love in relation to the pornography and takes away from the love and comfort he should be feeling for me. It actually and literally erodes our relationship in his brain. Our relationship is not healthy. It's not all him....but....a lot of it is him.

So when he climbed into bed last night, having said a handful of words to me all day....and when he rolled over without touching me....not a hug....not an arm around my waist....but instead, a wall. A wall right down the middle of the bed. And I had no desire to share that bed with him in any way.

I decided to sleep on the living room floor in front of the fireplace. 

He didn't stop me. He didn't ask why. For all I know, he was fast asleep and didn't even notice me leave.

At 6:30a, he came into the living, laid down next to me, and put his arm around me. And though I don't remember the details, that's how it started.

We ended up in the bedroom with the door shut. He said I had seemed cranky yesterday. And I told him. I wasn't cranky, I just wasn't chasing him around all day like the dog fighting for his attention. I said he doesn't think of me. I'm not a thought to him. I'm just another thing to do...an obligation to fulfill. I'm an object that he keeps around for his convenience in case he is interested in me at some random, unpredictable point. He avoids even platonic affection from me and he doesn't appreciate me.

He didn't disagree. He couldn't. It is the true. He loves me, but it is a selfish love...and it only comes up when it is convenient to him. And my co dependent habits become debilitating in that environment. So while codependency is never healthy, I absolutely cannot be condependent because it is breaking me.

And, a little surprisingly, this was a revelation to him. He tried to justify his actions, but ultimately admitted that I was right. He said he loved me but not all the time. And I said that it didn't used to bother me this much, but now I have no trust in him. I can't trust that the moments he loves me are enough or just an effort to placate my neediness. I can't trust what he says. I can only believe in what he does. And he has only done things for himself. Even his confession was selfish....coming in his timeline for his own purposes and changing only to the degree he is willing to get to.

It broke him. He's been avoiding things just as I have. And he got really upset and repentant. 

And skipping the messy, snotty details, he closed off. But I didn't leave. I stayed. I sat there, comforting and compassionate but detached. This is his pain. He needs to deal with it. He can change or not. I am a daughter of God....and I have a higher purpose than to sit around moping.

It took a lot of pushing, but he finally admitted that he didn't want to go to church. And I bluntly told him that that was a really stupid idea. He said he couldn't pray privately at church. I said he couldn't receive revelation or get outside himself sitting at home. I've seen this pattern before. Sure, he might pray or whatever....but the majority of the day would be spent "cleaning" and listening to Motab on iheart radio....thinking that replaces sabbath worship. But we can't repent by disobeying commandments. I told him that I would never force him to go to church and I wouldn't judge him if that is the decision he made....but...skipping church to spend the day "repenting" is a stupid plan. 

So he decided to get out of bed and go to church. It took him longer than usual....but I think it did him good. He had to get outside himself.

In the few quiet moments we had before we had to leave for church, I decided to give him the addiction recovery manual that I was given when I went to the support meeting. And I encouraged him to use it. Maybe that's why I needed to go to the meeting.....not for me....but for him. For the first time, he's been truly repentant....truly accepting that his actions have had effects in his life. And for the first time, he's been willing to do something a little bit more to try and correct it.

The scriptures say that we must go to the Lord with a broken heart and a contrite spirit. I think I saw that in him this morning. I hate that he had to hurt so much...but I'm encouraged that it's happened.

At the women's conference yesterday, she said that "as we struggle though...gethsamane, you go in and learn what you need to learn and you come out with the riches of eternity in your heart." 

I guess another word for gethsamane is "rock bottom." And I suppose we have to hit rock bottom in order to find a place where we can kneel.

Here's hoping that our break through is permanent. It took us 10 years to get to this point, so it might take us more than a few weeks or months to really get over it. It's been little things that have thrown us off for years. As President Uchtdorf said "Through years of serving the Lord and in countless interviews, I have learned that the difference between happiness and misery in individuals, in marriages, and families often comes down to an error of only a few degrees." Those few little things have thrown us thousands of miles off course over the last decade. We can get back on track....but it will take a while, and we'll have to develop new, better habits. 

I hope there are no more rock bottoms. I hope that it's uphill from here. I'm ready to move on with my life, I'm ready to be done cleaning up the mess that pornography has made of my life.

Dagny

"If you saw Atlas, the giant who holds the world on his shoulders, if you saw that he stood, blood running down his chest, his knees buckling, his arms trembling but still trying to hold the world aloft with the last of his strength, and the greater his effort the heavier the world bore down upon his shoulders - What would you tell him?"

"I…don't know. What…could he do? What would you tell him?"

To shrug."

"Do not let your fire go out, spark by irreplaceable spark in the hopeless swamps of the not-quite, the not-yet, and the not-at-all. Do not let the hero in your soul perish in lonely frustration for the life you deserved and have never been able to reach. The world you desire can be won. It exists.. it is real.. it is possible.. it's yours."

"She did not know the nature of her loneliness. The only words that named it were: This is not the world I expected."

"But you see, the measure of hell you're able to endure is the measure of your love."

Ayn Rand, Atlas Shrugged

Tender Mercies

The last couple of days have been pretty bad. Dark days. 

And I realized that my moments on the couch, Netflix and video games, books on tape and headphones....it's all avoidance. I've been avoiding the issue because it's too painful.

I've been drowning in a sea of secrets, barely able to keep my head above water, gasping for air and relief. It's suffocating; keeping everything in. It's terrifying and hard....and so I've tried to pretend it isn't happening.

I know that reading my scriptures and prayer are the best ways to get over this, but I haven't been doing it. And I wake up every day, watching as a spectator the minutes of my life tick by, wondering why I'm not taking the steps I need to take to move on. And I think I've figured it out....to heal, to move on, to get over it, I have to acknowledge it....and in a way....on some level....I haven't been able to really do that. I've been avoiding. I've been hiding. I've been drowning.

And I prayed in my heart what I should do. And I felt so strongly that I needed to talk to someone....to tell someone. And I did.....sort of. I felt so strongly that there wa one person I could talk to. I had thought of going to her before, but had always lost courage and allowed the moment to pass. The feeling, the impression was so overwhelming, I couldn't ignore it. So I messaged her on Facebook.

I couldn't even type the words at first. And I typed faster and faster and the words pored out of my fingers like acid rain, cleansing and putrid. And I sobbed until my head hurt and my eyes ran out of tears.

And she understood! She knew **exactly** how I feel. It was such a relief! It was like coming up for fresh air! And suddenly, I could breathe again! And she didn't have a ton of time....but it was enough....it was just a second....and it was just what I needed. I was able to do the laundry....something I haven't been able to bring myself to do in weeks. And I cleaned up the kitchen and made dinner. And was able to do little things that I haven't been able to do.

I guess I didn't realize how desperate I was, how deep the water had gotten until I found that moment of relief. I'm so grateful for little miracles. The little miracles are going to be the stepping stones that will help me climb out of this pit.

Frustrations and Fears

I'm so angry....I'm so frustrated. And I'm annoyed that even going to that stupid group thing...I still have no one to talk to. In fact they said during the "sharing" portion that you weren't supposed to talk about your troubles, only your solutions. 

After getting home from work yesterday, Jonah was in a mood. He wouldn't admit to being in a mood....but he was in a mood. He was snappy with the kids and not willing to talk to me. And when I told him that I wanted to go to the group, his attitude just got worse. Again, he wouldn't admit that anything was wrong or that he was in a bad mood, but he obviously wasn't in a good mood.

After the meeting, I got home pretty late. I typed my last post in the parking lot of the seminary building where the meeting was held. I didn't want to forget anything. I came home feeling relatively calm.

When I pulled into the driveway of the house, I was of course suspicious. The lights in the basement were on and the upstairs was dark. I figured that Jonah was breaking the rules again. And it's so annoying...because even if he's "clean"...he's not taking this seriously.

Well, I was wrong. He was sitting in the living room. He asked me how the meeting went, and I started to tell him when I heard the TV on downstairs. I asked if he had been watching tv downstairs and he said no. I asked, well then why is the TV on? Who's down there? He said the brothers were down there! I was so annoyed! It was almost 10pm! But I didn't get angry, and I didn't say anything to him....I just went downstairs, turned off the TV (among protests that the show was almost over) and sent the brothers off to bed. The princess was already in bed, he said, after apologizing for not getting the boys ready. But I found out this morning that he didn't bother changing her clothes or diaper because she was still in her tutu skirt and was soaking wet when I got her up this morning.

Anyway, so, after the kids were all taken care of, I sat down to talk to him about the meeting. The conversation digressed and basically culminated in his assertion that **he doesn't think what he did was that big of a deal!!!!** 

Wait, what?!?!

Yeah. 

So he says that he feels bad that he hurt me so badly but he doesn't feel like what he did was that big of a deal. I wasn't able to really process that at the time, though I tried to argue the point. He says he doesn't feel different having stopped. And everything that I blamed on the pronography, he absolutely denied being connected at all. I was a little pissed off at the point and dropped it.

And then, to bed. And he rolled over and went to sleep. No more talking. No more argument. No more thought from him.

But I keep thinking about it. And I keep getting more and more annoyed and frustrated! If he feels that way, what is going to prevent him from doing it again. I mean, I didn't catch him. And if hurting me is the only thing stopping him and it's not that big of a deal, why wouldn't he just start hiding it from me again?

I'm angry. And I'm hurt. And I'm sad. I'm sad. 

He keeps saying that it's been a month and he hasn't relapsed so it must be cured, right! He says the Internet restrictions will stop it from happening again. And I hate that. Because we've had restrictions before and it didn't stop him. And the last time he talked to a bishop, he said that he went 3 months before he started again. So a month is nothing.

He's not taking this seriously. And I'm really annoyed about it. I don't know how to make him see that it's not just the porn or masturbating that is bad. It's his attitude. His attitude is wrong. And it is demoralizing to me. He is minimaliIng my pain. Doesn't he see that what he is implying is that I'm overreacting? That what he is saying to me is "Well, fine! If it bothers you so much, I'll stop!" He's justifying his lying....it's not that big of a deal, so lying to you is protecting your from your own unjustified reactions!

No, his attitude is wrong. And **he** needs to fix that. I'm not sure that I can get that through his thick, addicted skull.

I'm so angry with him right now. And I don't see me trusting him with that attitude. I don't see recovery happening fully. I just don't see the change of heart that I wish were there. And the changes that I want to be made in our relationship aren't going to happen without that change of heart.

The Meeting

I decided to go to a meeting. I kept thinking that I wanted to tell someone something....but I kept talking myself out of it. I just couldn't do it. I couldn't bring myself to confess the immense shame that I carry. So I decided to go to a meeting.

Of course I got lost. I always get lost. I finally found the right building and dreaded a bit the fact that the parking lot was full and that a car pulled into the spot next to me. 

I kind of hoped that it would be like the AA meetings on Grey's Anatomy where it's a decent sized room filled with folding chairs and a podium with a microphone at the front. I was hoping to park up front and slink in the back without being noticed. And I hoped to only be forced into polite chit chat after it was all said and done as I grabbed stale cookies and juice with the other attendees at the end of the meeting.

But instead, I found myself in a seminary building next door to the high school. Walking through the doors was like walking into a chapel with couches and fake flowers and pictures of Christ everywhere.

The room hung heavy with too much cologne...and a sign hung on each side of the double doors confirming that those who wanted to attend a meeting were in the right place.

As I walked through the doors into the comfortable foyer, there was a wall in front of me and a hallway to each side. I laughed a little at the mosque style signs and arrows indicating that men were to head to the right while the women were to head down the hallway to the left. And at the end of the seemingly long hallway, there was a small classroom with maybe 7 desks pulled out of their regular rows to forms a sloppy, makeshift circle.

There was no podium and no quiet, unnoticed slinking as 3 of the 4 women already seated had chosen spots that faced the door.

I sat in the chair closest to the door and the person who had been in the car that pulled into the parking lot behind me came in a short time later, taking the seat next to me. One more woman entered a few minutes later and the whole party was assembled.

They were discussing lesson 5 from the manual on overcomingpornography.org. It was a quick discussion. There wasn't a lot of sharing. 2 of the original occupants of the room were missionaries trained by LDS social services. One was an older middle aged woman. Another was probably in her 50s. Those 4 spoke the most. The woman who had come in last had been to one previous meeting, but the woman sitting next to me was at her first meeting....like me...and she stayed very quiet.

Spiritually, I'm not sure what I expected from this experience. It was good. I guess I had kind of hoped to meet my new best friend. I don't think that happened. Maybe next time, though. Maybe next time I can participate more and make a friend.

The thing, though, was it was all about me. It wasn't about his addiction or the things he has done wrong. This is about me becoming a better person, developing a better relationship with my Father in Heaven. And so, I think I'll come again.

As I was sitting there, I was thinking, what do I expect to get out of this? And the thought immediately came that maybe I need to stop thinking about what I'm going to get and maybe be prepared to help someone else if they need it.

I do have to say that the Spirit in the room was more palpable than I have felt in such a long time. I know that my Heavenly Father loves me. I felt that so strongly tonight. Maybe I did find my new best friend. It's cheesy, but maybe that's what I needed...maybe Christ needs to be my best friend. I need to accept Him and know that He can be enough.

The Morning Breaks

He came back to bed last night in a somewhat penatent mood. It was late. He had probably been gone an hour or so. He muttered something about being sorry and probably needing more sleep. I sniffled and he thought I was crying. But I didn't look at him. I wasn't crying....I had been before....but I wasn't at that moment. I kind of wanted him to think I was. He asked me what was wrong and I said nothing. And then less than a minute later he was snoring. And I cried for real.

How many times in our last did he do something like this, blow up for no reason, and then retreat to the basemt for the pleasure of someone else's company? He said he wouldn't be in the basement at night alone. Whether he relapsed or not, he broke the rules. I hate that we have to have rules.

This morning he tried very hard. He said he was sorry and that he needs to learn more loving ways to say things. He asked how I was feeling. I didn't want to tell him because I hate that I'm suspicious. I hate that this is the person that I am. 

I told him that he doesn't hate when people eat in beds.....he sometimes hates when people other than him eat in bed. It isn't consistent and it doesn't apply to him. And I didn't mean to offend. He hadn't been paying attention to me all evening....which is fine. I don't need constant attention. And he was watching a movie with headphones on. I didn't know that he had stopped the movie. 

I didn't tell him that this was the way my father treated my mother. That my father would chastise her and make her feel guilty for swearing or yelling at the kids when the truth was that he yelled and swore, too....and the darker truth was that he followed through on his threats. He was a hypocrite....a word I don't like because I think it is misused and overly used. A hypocrite is not a person who believes in a higher law that they are striving to live up to but can't always achieve it. A hypocrite is someone who holds others to a different standard than they do themselves and then judges the others more harshly when they fail to live up to those standards. That's what my father did. He was far from perfect, and he seemed content with that. But we were expected to be perfect. And when we didn't live up to his expectations, we were chastised and berated and beaten.

My husband would never beat me. But he gets into these moods and he berated me. That's how I felt last night. I was lying in bed feeling like the fat girl who eats everywhere she goes...while her husband whacks off in the basement looking at girls who are actually attractive.

I know it's not about me...intellectually I know that....but sometimes it doesn't feel that way.

But back to this morning....

So then I started to cry and I couldn't get the words out. And I said that I hate myself for letting my brain go there but he has a problem and he made rules and he broke the rules. And he apologized sheepishly and said that he had forgotten about the rules. He wasn't thinking about the rules. He said that I should have reminded him. And I said I had just been yelled at by him....I didn't want to accuse him of something so that I could get yelled at again. 

He apologized a lot then. I didn't ask. The bishop told me that I should ask, that I have a right to ask. Jonah has told me that he wants me to ask. But I couldn't ask. From the way it all played out, it doesn't sound like anything happened. He has promised to tell me if it ever does happen again, and he didn't offer any confessions of the sort....so I can only assume he is still clean...but I'm not sure that I would want to know if he weren't.

But he did say he felt better knowing how I feel. I do, too. But I still feel sad. I feel bleak....not hopeless or scared. Just....foggy and bleak. There is hope...and there is a chance for life to be better than this...but the odds are against us.

I guess, though, that bleak is a step up from the dark places we have been in before. Every step forward is a step that didn't take us backwards. And maybe that is the road to trust...through the darkness and into the fog and maybe someday into the sun.

Obsession and Misery

I'm sitting here, and I'm obsessing. And it makes everything a million times worse than it needs to be. I don't know what to do. I hate this. I hate it! I HATE IT!!!!

Okay, so he has this thing. He hates when I eat in bed. Okay, it's his thing, whatever. But he's such a jerk about it!

And we were in bed. And I was watching a movie and he was watching a movie on his iPad. And I (this is a little TMI, sorry) I had a Pap smear today....which makes me a little queasy and crampy. So I grabbed a small snack to help settle my stomach....and I didn't really think too much about it because he was wearing headphones! But he got all pissy and stomped off. And I asked where he was going, and he was such a jerk!! "I hate eating in bed! Maybe I'll come back when you're done."

And off he went....and I'm sitting here stewing. And of course my first thought is how porn addicts treat their wives like crap. So of course I can only assume he's going to look at porn. And when I hear him head toward the basement instead of the living room, it's just confirmation, right! And an hour later he hasn't come back, so of course the bastard is relapsing! But I'm too prideful to go down and check because I would have to admit that I care of that is what he is doing. And on the flip side, I would have to admit that I don't trust him at all. 

Bastard. Lying, flipping, porn addict, masturbating bastard. This is what I've been turned into. This is what I've become:  a bitter, angry, untrusting, she'll of a woman who cries every time her husband walks down the stairs.

I hate myself, and I hate this. I feel like I'm setting him up for failure so that I can point and say, "see! I told you so!" 

I hate him in this moment....because I'm so scared and ashamed. I don't know how to ask for help because I don't know what help I need. I just know that I'm floundering in this ocean of doubt and suspicion and I don't know how to get back on dry land.

I'm alone. So alone. I hate that he has done this to me. I hate the piteous looks the bishop gives to me. I hate the smiling, content faces of the happy couples all around us. And I hate that I can harbor so much hate in my soul. 

I don't know what I want. I just know that I can't live like this....dancing on the precipice between happiness and insanity. I almost wish that I could jump over the edge because at least that action is certain. Misery is an easy constant, which is probably why so many people don't fight their way out of it. It's easier to stay at rock bottom than it is to risk falling again as you try to climb up. There's a certain level of comfort in that.

But I'm still on the edge of the cliff. I'm still holding on for dear life. And I'm so tired. I wish I knew when it would be over....how long it will be until I'm safe again. I wish I knew if I will ever be safe again. I don't have any answers. I'm drained and for tonight I might let go...just for a second....just to see what happens.

Cheated Moments

Sometimes I think the biggest challenge I have in this life is to overcome and fight against that feelin of being cheated out of something that I deserved or something everyone else gets.

I look back at my childhood and the things that weren't given to me....the moments that should have been. I had very few sleep overs or friends over because of the mess. My parents were old and fat and didn't play with us. I didn't get piano lessons or dance class. We weren't sent to summer camps or sports clinics to improve our performance in anything. And when I did manage to get on a team and play a game, they were never there....so I quit asking.

In college, I had no support from my family, emotionally or financially...so I didn't do the things that college kids do. I didn't date a lot or hang out with friends. I was the kid at the table who ordered the cup of soup and tried to make it last while everyone else ate their entrees. My parents didn't pay their taxes, so I didn't qualify for financial aid. And I ended up putting it on a credit card and working 3 jobs to pay it off.

And then my wedding...I don't think a single person was there for me...not even my mother (who was there for herself). No photographer and no cake. Not even a gaudy dress.

There are little moments we all just kind of expect to have. I always wanted to drive off into the sunset in my car with paint all over it and little cans tied to the bumper. Jonah's family didn't do that though....their idea of decorating a car was to hide rotten meat under the seats and stuff the trunk full of the trash from the reception.

You expect presents and happiness at te birth of your children but I got drama and an undeserved lecture from Jonah's father.

When we bought out first house, jonah's grandparents helped us, but only because they didn't trust us enough to borrow their truck. And they didn't really help so much as complain and dictate and drive back and forth between the old place and the new place.

With our second house, friends from the ward helped when they found out that no one else was going to be there.

It's easy to look back and feel rather helpless and alone and cheated. The struggle is to remain grateful. Am I grateful for these trials?

This morning, Jonah left for work very early. He told me because he didn't want me to wake up without him there and worry and make assumptions. I'm grateful that he was considerate like that..but I hate that he had to do it. I hate that I worry and make assumptions. I hate myself right now.

I'm at a point where I can put on the smiley face and not worry about breaking down in public. And most of the time I'm fine....really.....but those times are also when I am in the most denial about our situation. I'm scared and I am tired. And I'm sad. I don't know if I need a pill or prayer or therapy or chocolate or some combination of all of them. But I do think I need to talk to someone....because I need my situation to be real. I can't live in denial anymore. I need to face it and overcome it....not sweep it under a rug and hope to come to a place where I've successfully ignored it.

The Church's Principle's Office

Yesterday was the day. The day that I went with Jonah to his standing appointment with the bishop.

I have a fear of authority. It's kind of paralyzingly. I just don't deal well with confrontations with authority figures. Even when I know the outcome will be good or that the purpose of the interview is not nefarious in any way, still, I break out in sweats and jitters...I often start to cry....at which point in pretty sure that all respect that the person sitting on the other side of the desk might have once had for me flies out the window and is immediately replaced with the moderately true conviction that I am certifiably insane. I don't know how to get over that....

So, in this situation, walking into that office, I was a wreck. I hate it. I didn't want to look him in the eye. I didn't want to answer his questions.

And he asked me how I was. And I said, "better." I can't remember everything that happened. I told a little bit about my father and I focused really hard on not crying. I said I hated being paranoid and that my first thought when waking up in the morning is "he's not here! Where is he, what is he doing, and why?" (At which point, he told me that was fine and good and if Jonah got defensive or said I was nagging then he was the one who was in the wrong.)

But what I remember the most is the feeling of utter humiliation. I hate that I've been put in this situation. I didn't do anything wrong! 

But that isn't what I said when the bishop asked me how I felt. I said that I was angry and hopeless and infuriated and annoyed and a thousand other things. These are sins I never wanted to have to deal with...words like "pornography" and "masturbation" are words I never wanted to have to say.

Jonah is trying. And he is staying sober and promising to let me know if he slips or relapses in any way. And I'm starting to feel normal....except I'm not.

I was asked by the Relief Society to teach a class on securing computers and blocking inappropriate content. It feels ironic. That knowledge used to make me feel safe and in control. Now it make me feel powerless and scared and naive. I mean, what's the point? Nothing could have protected my family from **his** choices....because ultimately they were his choices to make.

The plan of Satan was to compel us to be righteous and to return to live with God. Christ wants us to choose to be happy, to choose to be righteous and to choose to return because He knows that, as glib as it sounds, it's the thought that counts.

My husband loves me. And I love him. I just really hate this. I hate everything about this. The bishop said something about how this will ultimately be for our good. I want someone else's good.

Valentine's Day

Valentine's Day was one of those amazing nights. We got a sitter! We've never gotten a sitter for Valentine's Day! Most years, we haven't done anything at all. There has been work and school. And then there was no money and kids.

I wonder sometimes if he loves me the way that I love him. He says that he loves me, and I believe him. And yet, there are times when I wonder how deep that love is. 

We were at the grocery store on Friday night for our usual Friday night making dinner date, and the place was full of men buying flowers and chocolates and donuts for breakfast. And Jonah made that typical snark of "Valentine's day is dumb! Can't I just love you all year without having a special day where o have to prove it?" I kind of thought it was a joke and ignored it....but, the next day, when I asked him if he wanted to exchange gifts before or during our date, he said he hadn't gotten me anything.

I hate to be the demanding and shallow girl...but sometimes I'm really jealous of the women sitting at home alone on Friday night because their significant others are out thinking about how to make them smile.

He wasn't super into the whole Friday night thing. And he didn't seem too excited about the Valentine's Day date. He eased into it, and we had a really great time. But I sometimes get tired of pushing him into loving me.

I know he loves me. I do. And I know he likes to spend time with me. But I also know that he gets preoccupied with everything else, and it drives wedged between us.

Ok, enough complaining and whining. We did have a good time. Jonah ended up getting some headache medicine, and after that he was much more into the ceramics painting. He painted an owl candle holder and I made an owl bank for the princess.

Then we had sushi. I asked the waitress to order for me since I had never had it before. It was fantastic and fully cooked. Jonah had a raw salmon with citrus stuff roll. And I couldn't stomach it. It didn't taste like raw fish, but the texture was wrong and really grossed me out.

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I think I've said this before but...I've been reading these blogs about other WoPAs that have been dealing with this for longer. And they deal with relapse after relapse. I don't know how they deal with it. Valentine's Day was exactly 5 weeks since D-day and that puts him at 5 weeks and 3 days sober. 38 days. And I'm barely starting to feel normal again. And that's when these other women start to report the relapses of their husbands. I think in afraid to be comfortable and normal because it would make it harder if there were a relapse. It's easier to not trust him and say "see! I told you so!" Then it would be to trust him and let myself get broken again.

A Great Hair Day

Today, I skipped my gym appointment, drove Jonah to work (I've been doing that a lot lately), and spent way too much money!

First we (the princess and I) walked around Walmart for about 90 minutes. We bought new workout clothes (old navy active wear **SUCKS**), a new dress for my Valentine's Day date, and paper valentines for the brothers.

Then we spent another hour in the fabric store picking out upholstery fabric and stuff to make a skirt lengthener slip thingy (unfortunately, the new V day dress is a wee bit short!).

The princess spent the whole time covering my arm with VeggieTales stickers.

I was happy. It felt really good to be happy. The last few days have been a bit of a rock bottom....but (thanks to this online journalism blog thing) I feel really hopeful because my rock bottom is not nearly as low as it was a month ago! Progress, right!?!

We stopped at subway (pretending to be healthy while ordering fast food) and played outside in the backyard. I was productive! I did laundry and the dishes and cleaned the kitchen and am fixing a computer!

We went to the park when the brothers were out of school, and made brinner (breakfast for dinner).

And to top it all off, I had a really fantastic hair day!

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I've been singing in a regional choir for a local women's conference that is coming up. We are singing a song by Sally DeFord called "Make Us One." I know this is super cheesy, but the lyrics have really touched me, so I want to post them here.

How shall we stand amid adversity?

Where is our comfort in travail?

How shall we walk amid infirmity,

When feeble limbs are worn and frail?

And as we pass through mortal sorrow, 

How shall our hearts abide the day?

Where is the strength the soul may borrow?

Teach us thy way.

Make is one that our burdens may be light!

Make us one as we seek eternal life!

Unite our hands to serve they children well.

Unite us in obedience to thy will.

Make us one! Teach us, Lord, to be,

One in faith, one in heart, one in Thee.

Then shall our souls be filled with charity,
Then shall all hate and anger cease
And though we strive amid adversity,
Yet shall we find thy perfect peace
So shall we stand despite our weakness,
So shall our strength be strength enough
We bring our hearts to thee in meekness;
Lord, wilt thou bind them in thy love?

Take from me this heart of stone,

And make it flesh even as thine own.

Take from me unfeeling pride;
Teach me compassion; cast my fear aside.
Give us one heart, give us one mind
Lord, make us thine
Oh, make us thine!

This son especially touched me at practice last night. Earlier in the evening, I had listened to a Mormon Messages podcast about pornography. It featured a couple who had gone through exactly what I am going through....except she dealt with it better than I am dealing with it. The big difference between her and I, though, is that she told everyone! She told her mom and dad and friends and siblings and everyone! She did not hold back! And she talked about how talking is essential because keeping things locked away is what satan wants! He wants us to be alone and miserable! He wants us to be ashamed and scared! Christ is all about love and openness. And how we need to find those around us to talk to and be open with....not just for ourselves, but for them, too.....you never know who might be out there dealing with stuff, too.

So with that in mind, singing the lyrics to that song....talking about how God wants us to be one. He wants to make us a solid group of sisters and saints so that we can work together....so that we can help one another....because He never intended man (or woman) to be alone. "And as we pass through mortal sorrow, how shall our hearts abide the day?...Make us one that our burdens may be light!"

I love how it talks about our trials teaching is charity. It's easy to judge someone when you have never been in their shoes. But pain does something to you. I hope no one ever has to feel the pain that I have felt. And I feel so much more empathy for those who have. 

I thought I understood this problem. I had so much pride. (Part of that was because my husband had lied to me and told me that our safeguards had solved the problem almost a decade ago....but that's beside the point.) I thought myself wise. But I was naive and foolish and oh so wrong. I'm so sorry to anyone I might have judged or inadvertently offended when I was so blind to the beam in the figurative eyes of my own relationship. I know better now....I know how little I know.

I feel like, today, Heavenly Father answered prayers that I did not speak. I felt so much hope and peace. I love my Father in Heaven so much, and I am so grateful for His love and care. I should be using this experience to draw nearer to Him....and though I talk about it, I haven't been diligent. But today my burden was lighter. Today I felt His power and the grace of the atonement of Christ.

If only I could hold on to this feeling for always....this feeling of....

...

......joy.

Echoes in My Broken Parts

I have become a woman with secrets. I've never been that kind of person before....not since I was a child trying to make excuses why no one could come into my house and why my underwear were not totally clean. I don't like secrets. I don't like hiding. I don't like being fake in real life.

This place...this is a secret. I've told my husband that he could read what I write here...partly because I want him to invite me to read what he writes. He declined. I don't think he wants to know. I don't really want to know either.

I had another dream last night, and I've noticed a pattern. I hope my husband never has to deal with this pattern of my subconscious. I'm ashamed of it....and afraid of it. I hate it.

 My secret and most disturbing dreams have (generally) focused on romantic (not sexual) encounters with men who are not my husband. The pattern to it is this:  My husband (let's call him Jonah) and I walk into a scene or setting. We know someone there, another man. He flirts with me or tries to display some affection for me. I blush, mutter something that indicates that I'm not against the expression of affection but (referring to Jonah) make it clear that my father is watching and so the affection is inappropriate at this time. That is the pattern. My husband and companion becomes my father. Damn you, Freud.

Have I mentioned that I've been cursing in my mind more lately? I don't like that part of my new self.

I guess the point is...the dreams bother me because I don't like my real father. And for Jonah to be taking that place in my subconscious is very disturbing.

For a fleeting moment last night, I heard an echo....deep down in the part of me that is broken....it said "I don't want to be married anymore." It was horrifying. I never want to think such a thing again. I love my husband. I do. But being scared all the time is exhausting.

I'm depressed. I know it. I hide it. But I don't want to do the things I normally would want to do. I don't want to be with people. I don't want to put any effort into anything. I find it difficult to read my scriptures or say formal prayers...although I've been getting more comfortable with the latter. I easily burst into tears. I watch a lot of Netflix. I'm tired all of the time. I sleep 10 hours per night and still have difficulty getting out of bed. They are sure signs of depression. Academically, I see it. I sometimes feel like my body is a shell and I am just hovering over it....watching. Life goes on autopilot. My responses to the world around me are pre-programmed and unenthusiastic. Joy is fleeting and my heart is not in anything.

I read a quote today from one of my favorite authors, Ayn Rand.

"Sex is the physical expression of a tribute to personal values."

 My husband has given tribute to base values. I think intimacy after a revelation of sexual addiction or any sort is so difficult because suddenly, you realize, his values do not match up with yours. How can you pay tribute to something you do not respect?

I love my husband. He is a hard worker. He is talented in so many ways. He loves our children and is a great father. But there is a part of him that I no longer respect. I guess he is like my father in that way....except there was little in my father to respect in the first place.

I want to attend a WoPA meeting....but I'm afraid that doing so would hurt Jonah. I'm also afraid that I won't fit in there because my problems are so seemingly small. How could I tell a woman whose husband has slipped into an Asian "Massage" parlor that I understand her pain? And how could I bear her pity when she tells me that she understands mine?

Have you ever moved from one house to another? And on that last day, after everything is packed in boxes and loaded onto the truck, you find yourself alone in that living room that seemed so small before...but now it is empty and larger. And even the quiet swish of the broom suddenly echoes in the space? Maybe there is a metaphor there. Maybe the key is to move to a different emotional "house." Although, I don't really know how that is done. Or maybe the key is to refill the room with new furniture and decor. Maybe that's how I stop the echoes.

Also, on a side note, I'm not doing the dumb formatting thing anymore....sometimes after dumping all of my pain into the void of the faceless internet, I am too spent to make the effort to resize a bunch of random words to make them standout. I'm getting lazy. Maybe. Or maybe it's just time for me to grow up.

Secrets and My Subconscious

I had hoped that the nightmares were going away....that I was starting to be better...that life was getting back to normal....but I'm not totally certain that I'm capable of normal anymore. Even my seemingly innocuous dreams are nightmarish and act as triggers.

I try to suppress the emotion of it...I try to hide from the pain and pretend like it doesn't affect me...but then I come here with every intention of writing some happy, inspired post only to find tears oozing from my fingertips.

I shared a dream that I had a couple of nights ago with my husband. It's funny to hear him say things like "So your dreams are just weird again, not nightmares! That's good!" He doesn't make the connections...the doesn't see the subtle nuances and how they relate to our situation. That "just weird" dream was full of public humiliations,  broken relationships, and fear. He saw a series of random events, unrelated and occurring in a completely inappropriate place. I don't want to hurt him, so I close my mouth in a tight smile. I won't tell him what it means...how it affects me. I won't tell him because my pain is my own and not his burden.

I had a dream last night. It was horrible and shameful...so much so that I can't relate it...not to anyone. I don't even want to talk about it here in any detail because I want it gone. I want it erased from my mind and memory. I want its moment in history to be deleted. I hate it. I hate that those sorts of thoughts and scenarios are in my head and that my brain is able to create such a vivid picture with them. It make me ill....literally ill.

Private moments with my husband triggered the memory of the dream. And the memory of the dream triggered the disgust and horror of my husband's revelation. I was suddenly thrust a million miles away from him, and it didn't feel like it was far enough. But I don't want to punish him continually. I don't want to be the pet owner that leaves the mark on the carpet just so that I can daily rub the dog's nose in his mistake. I want to be able to clean up the mess and move on. But how do I move on? I feel like something inside of me is broken. I am broken.

My son was asked to give a talk in primary today. But when we went into the primary room and sat down, we were told that the schedule had changed. I am an outsider there. I don't even know the schedule. Everything has changed. There are no constants in my life, and it is a depressing thought.

I made a comment in Sunday School and got a fact wrong. I felt awkward, and all of the shame that I have been hiding from crashed into my chest...the shame of his sin and my reaction and my inability to cope. I feel so alone.

I couldn't even look up after that. I slunk into my chair and played a game on my phone for the remainder of the lesson.

When we got home, everything was too much. The kids were bickering playfully, and my husband was teasing them. The princess needed to take her nap, and the ice cream was too hard to be served. I couldn't handle each person asking something of me. And the dream...there in the back of my mind....it was too much.

The bishop had mentioned that my husband's next appointment was supposed to be today. He mentioned that he wanted me to go, too. I asked my husband about it, and he so casually blew it off saying we could go next week when things weren't so crazy. It was another thing he was asking of me....to be okay with a blasé attitude. And the dream.....it was too much.

I left the kitchen and ran to the piano. I couldn't handle everything. I felt like my chest was going to explode with the emotion being trapped inside. The piano is still broken, but I don't care. I need it. And there are things our family needs, so I can't yet afford to replace it. My husband followed me and continued to tease me. I blurted out in a tone more desperate and venomous than I had intended "Stop it! Please, don't! Please! Just stop it!"

He was angry. I'm not sure if I blame him or not.

He went outside. He slammed the door. And I felt more shame and guilt.

I went out to ask him if he was okay....to see where he was going...where he had gone. He was sitting on the porch. He was not unkind but he was short with me. I got the message. I was not welcome in that moment.

And all I could think about as I headed into the house is that these are the moments when he is tempted...and he keeps saying that he is trying to be better for me...but he won't want to be better for me if he is angry at me. So I headed down to the basement. I'm hiding from the kids down there. I'm trying to calm down. And, deep down in a place that I don't want to acknowledge....I am guarding the computer.

20 minutes later he is sitting next to me, head on my shoulder, as if nothing happened. I'm not sure how to react....how to feel. And still, I think, he is better now. I can't burden him with my pain. It is my pain.

What is wrong with me? I feel like in my darkest moments that I reach out to my Savior. And I take His hand, and everything seems okay. But I let go for just a moment because I have to live. I have to do laundry and dishes, and suddenly the light is out again. I don't know when or how it happened; I just know that I am sitting in the basement like a sentinel, but everything around me seems so futile. Why clean up the messes that are just going to be reformed in a few minutes when the boys head down here? And it is a metaphor for how I feel about life! I don't want him to know how hopeless I feel about this process of "recovery"...but he's opened up to me before...he's confessed and been found out before....

The stake president spoke in church today about how in the moments when we are right and use that as a justification not to forgive....even when we are right, we are wrong.....because we should always forgive. And again, I feel the shame of not being able to go back to the way things were. I feel like I have forgiven him....but I don't know how to trust him. And does that mean that I haven't truly forgiven him?

Anyway, that's how I feel today. I feel shame....shame for my dream and shame because I can't let go and shame because my trial is so small when compared to others.

Abuse vs. Addiction

I've been reading this book. It's called When Your Husband Is Addicted to Pornography by Vicki Tiede. It's amazing. It's really helped me a lot...and not just with the whole "my husband is a deviant" thing...but with my whole self. It is written like a workbook and encourages you to look up scriptures and to pray. I checked it out from the library, but I think I need to buy it. I can't look the librarian in the eye to ask her to renew it. As much as I need the help, I can't handle the shame.

The funny thing is that there is a new kind of shame rising up in me. It's so stupid! I can't believe I'm writing about it, let alone thinking it. Here is where I suppose I need some back story.

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When I was a adolescent and teenager, I suffered. I knew that I was different from most of the kids around me. My life was not normal. I tended to ignore it. I didn't talk about it. I didn't think about it. I just tried my very best to pretend it wasn't true. I would hang out with friends and practice my flute and spend the night in the theater....because on stage I was someone different...I wasn't me....I wasn't different. I was everything the playwright wanted me to be. I wore costumes and blurted out scripted words. Even though most of the world fears public speaking more than death, I felt like the stage was a sanctuary...it made me feel safe.

After leaving for college and in the earlier years of my marriage, I began to really struggle with my childhood. I think that raising children will do that to you. They are constant triggers. They do things you did and want things you wanted. As a parent, you are forced to face choices that your parent's made and either give in to the impulse to mimic them or indulge in the idea that you think you can be better than them.

That's quite a crisis of self...to put oneself above one's parents. In order to come to that conclusion, you have to come to terms with the idea that they should have done better....that maybe you would have been better off if they had been different. And that's when your paradigm starts to shift.

For me, it was actively recognizing some things that I had always known....that many people had an advantage over me in college and dating and life. That any progress I have made in my short life and limited experience had nothing to do with my parents or my upbringing. So where did it come from? When you don't like yourself very much, it's really difficult to give yourself credit for that sort of thing.

I also had to recognize that if the things that I was willing to change could have been done differently than my parents had done them, perhaps the things that I wasn't willing to change could have been done differently as well. You grow up with all these ideas bouncing around in your head, things you've learned and things you've heard. And many of the most prominent mantras are the ones repeated throughout your youth by your parents. Some of them are simple to modify. My mother hated a lot of people that I went to school and church with. She gossiped about them and insulted them. She was wrong. They are good people. That was an easy thing to change. Things about why my brother had been sent to foster care were harder to change.

I kind of went through an "early life crisis." I was starting to remember parts of my life that I really wanted to forget. I started to see my parents in a new and less kindly light. And I started to see parts of them (that I didn't much) like in myself. I was depressed and angry. And in the middle of it, I had a miscarriage, and an enabling but somewhat angry and depressed friend.

I had pretty much come out of the funk by the time my grandmother had died. Although I had never spoken with my parents about it, the "crisis" had created a lot of distance between me and them. But I had come to terms with the new me...I was more confident and more prepared to make my own decisions without holding grudges over what choices they had made in the past. And I can't say that it was easy to be there and to be suddenly forced to face how different I was from the rest of my family (like staying home to babysit while the rest of the adults went out to the bar to get drunk after my grandmother's funeral)....it was okay. I came home relatively unbothered.

When my father passed away about 18 months later, it was a very different experience. The death of my father was a bit of a liberation for my brothers and at least one of my sisters. The guilt to try to mend the gaps in our relationship was gone. He was gone. It was over. The story was finished and in the most final way possible, the conflict was resolved.

I desperately wanted to spend the evening around the campfire with my brother's and sister that night before my father's funeral, but my son was nervous in the new place and was having difficulty falling asleep without me. But I had moments and snippets. And I asked my mother for my father's journal. And I started to learn that my memories and my relationship with my father were such a small part of the story.

My brothers finally felt free to talk without fear of repercussions. And they told stories and answered questions I can only barely begin to describe. For every spanking with a board or a belt that I endured, they had suffered whippings and punches. I was slapped in the back of the head so hard that I blacked out, but my brother had had his knee crushed with a steel-toed boot. I learned to make pads out of toilet paper, but he learned how to steal food and stoke a fire when he was banished to his uninsulated room during the freezing cold Minnesota winter nights. I had been yelled and at and threatened....but on him....they had followed through. For every reason I had to be resentful and angry with my parents, my brother had a 5 reasons that would exonerate him if he had shot my father in his sleep. I lived through a sad, difficult, emotionally deprived, mildly abusive childhood in a hoarder household with an all but absent father and a severely depressed mother....my brother had been drug through Hell....and he had barely...literally *barely* escaped with his life.

And I felt shame. I felt completely invalidated. How could I complain about an intense argument when my father kicked me out of the house when I was 15 when disagreements between my father and brother had resulted in fist fights in the back yard.

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And that's how I feel now. I've been reading this book, and it's so helpful. But I read these stories about women whose husbands have had sex with other women or other men....who have visited prostitutes and paid for pornography....who have frequented sex shops and strip clubs....who have maxed out credit cards and lost jobs....and I feel shame...because how dare I pretend to have the same emotions as them when my husband confessed his occasional pornography abuse which at it's worse seems to be a once per week issue. When compared to hard-core pornography, prostitutes, and orgies, women who have dealt with STDs and public humiliations and physical abuse....how does my pain measure up? Do I deserve to feel pain?

Our bishop has attended a number of training meetings on pornography addiction and abuse. He says he doesn't think that my husband is an addict, but rather an abuser. And he says that is a good thing. I can't find a lot of information on the subject...but what I have found, I don't know if I'm grateful for that or not. Addiction in my mind seems more justifiable...it's something that can't be helped. Abuse seems like a habit...and habits can be changed. I'm grateful for that, as an abuser, the likelihood of permanent change is significantly increased with less chance for negative side effects as he works toward that change. But I'm not particularly grateful to know that each and every act was accompanied by small and individual choices.

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When I look back on the past few years...the things we've talked about before he confessed to me...it is a little infuriating. I remember reading a quote a long time ago from President Hinckley. I can't find the quote now...I just remember reading it and discussing it with my husband. It read something along the lines of, "Those who attend the temple regularly will have no problems with pornography." In a talk I was able to track down, Dallin H Oaks quoted a letter he had been sent. It said, "an endowed priesthood bearer’s fall into pornography never occurs during periods of regular worship in the temple; it happens when he has become casual in his temple worship." Same thought, right?

Anyway, my husband and I had discussed this quote or thought a number of times for various reasons. Often we had discussed it in terms of "why is the temple important?" Sometimes, we discussed it in terms of "How can I become more spiritual and strengthen my testimony?" Either way, with each discussion, my husband would express a desire to attend the temple more frequently. I was always supportive of this. We always discussed different ways we could fit it into his schedule or into both of ours. It just never seemed to pan out. On one occasion, he made the excuse that he needed to replace items in his temple bag, so I bought those items for him. On another occasion, he said he needed a less obvious temple bag so that he could attend the temple before work and bring it with him to the office without drawing a lot of attention. So he went out and bought an temple bag. He still never attended.

It's easy to be angry when he says that he has repented so many times in the past and that he knows that God has forgiven him and that he tried really hard to quit on his own...but I look back on the things that happened, the conversations that we've had...and he wasn't willing to do the work!!!

With an addiction, you need counselling and therapy and a support group to get "clean." But he isn't an addict, and I often wonder if he had just done simple things that we had always talked about...maybe he *could* have quit his habit if he had really wanted to.

It's so easy to get angry...to place blame and to judge. It's easy to say that this is something that I would never do...and it's true. I would never do this. I would never defile him and our marriage in this way. In another talk by President Hinckley, he quotes a letter of a WoPA where she says, in response to her husband's plea for forgiveness:

"Don’t you know what you have done?’ … I told him I had brought a pure heart into our marriage, kept it pure during that marriage, and intended to keep it pure ever after. Why could he not do the same for me?"

Sometimes, that is exactly how I feel....and it is those feelings that fuel the anger. I know I am not perfect. I know that I have a multitude of things to work on both physically and spiritually....but this is our relationship....our marriage...the one thing that I saved just for him. Why was it so much to expect the same?

In one of our conversations, I told him that I had never had sex with anyone but him...not before we were married and not after. He said, "I guess I just assumed sometimes that you had but I didn't want to say anything." It was so hurtful. Firstly, that he would just assume that I lied. Secondly, that he assumed that I was capable of and had committed that kind of egregious sin. And third, that he was okay with both of those things. How different we are! How little value he place on my virtue! How little respect and trust he had for me, personally! I haven't had the courage or the opportunity to broach this topic with him. I'm not sure that I want to. I don't want to have to deal with it. I don't want to know any more things that I can't unknow.

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The truth is, I think part of my shame would be assuaged if he were an addict rather than an abuser. Perhaps I would feel more justified in my emotions. Perhaps I would feel more validated in my anger and frustration and fear.

It's such a lonely thing, sin. I can't talk to anyone because of how horrible and shameful it is....but I also feel like I can't talk to anyone because it's not as bad as it could be.

This is what Satan wants...he wants "all men to be miserable like unto himself." This sin makes me miserable. Even when I'm figuring out how to not be miserable, it makes me miserable again. Will I ever be able to fully pull myself out of this cycle? Will our relationship ever be whole again?

There are triggers all around me. Sunday is a trigger. Does he have an interview with the Bishop on Sunday? Will there be others there who will ask questions as he stands in the hallway waiting for his turn? What will he say? Is this the week that I am supposed to go, too? What should I do with the kids? Can I get a sitter? On a Sunday?? And if I did, what would I tell them? What reason could I give for needing a babysitter on a Sunday afternoon? And suddenly I am miserable again. Suddenly I am feeling the pain and the futility of it all, all over again!

I am desperate for relief. I am desperate to put this all behind us...to never have to think or type or say the words "pornography" or "masturbation" ever again! This morning, I woke up when the alarm went off and I was exhausted. There are no other options. There are no ways around this storm except to plow through it. I just wish that I could be the driver...I wish that I could be in control. I wish that I could at least stand at the helm and give directions! But I can't...I'm stuck riding it out in the cargo hold. I have no power. I have no control. I have nothing but to give my will to God and pray that He will protect me and keep me. Am I worthy of being saved? Am I important enough to be guarded? I don't know...but I need to hope. That's all that I have left.

Contemptable Contempt

I was listening to Malcolm Gladwell's book Blink today while I was at the gym. It's all about the science of snap judgments, and it is more interesting than I thought it would be.

In the beginning of the book, he talks about a process called "thin slicing." Basically, it is a way of analyzing a given situation or thing (or person or process or whatever) by analyzing a small part of that situation/thing/whatever.

To give an example, he talks about a psychologist named John Gottman who did this huge study that I'm not going to go into the details of here but basically was about identifying subtle warning signs of divorce. Using the method he developed, he can predict if a couple will divorce within 15 years with 95% accuracy! They discuss all the different warning signs (there are 4 major ones) and go into a bunch of interesting details, but I kind of latched on to this quote:

"...contempt, is the greatest predictor of divorce. It's the single most important sign that the marriage is in trouble. In fact, Gottman reports that having your significant other hold you in disgust is so stressful that it can have a negative effect on your immune system."

In the book, he says

"[Contempt is]...a global condemnation of a person's character...it's trying to put that person on a lower plane than you. It's hierarchical." 

I've been really working hard on being a better spouse. I've been trying to make dinners and get the laundry done and not criticize my husband. And I've tried to make time for him. We've started putting the kids to bed early and making a special dinner together each Friday night. And this morning we found a fun little donut shop right next to my gym and the trailhead he takes to go to bike to work where we can have an occasional morning treat together. We talked about how our days seem to be more pleasant when we make time for one another in the morning. And he even invited me to help him with his yard work (something I tend to avoid), but I said yes and made it a date! We're really working...

And with all this effort, I still can't let go of the pornography thing.

I know that part of it is just that it is in our world. It's all around us. I see it in TV shows and movies and billboards. And it's always been there...I just haven't been so aware.

Part of it is that we are each trying to be more open, so it comes up. I have questions. I'm curious and my questions are not malicious....but they are there. And he has temptations...I know that...and he's trying to avoid those temptations by turning away and starting a conversation when a sexy scene pops in on a movie. And I notice those things. And he explains to me. And all of that is good...but it's there.

And part of it, I think, is that I don't want to be complacent anymore. I don't want to lose this connection that we have right now. I know that I can't stop the natural ebb and tide of a relationship. I can't prevent future mood swings or fights. But I'm afraid of them. I'm so afraid that ebb means relapse and that bad days mean slips.

Each time I hang on to it, the temptation comes to allow contempt come in. Each time I think of it, there is that temptation to think of myself as better because he succumbed to something that I did not.

I often wonder why it took him so long to confess to me...why he was so afraid of me and my reaction...and I wonder if I've shown signs of contempt in the past...if what he was afraid of was not so much more reaction or punishment that I would exact....but my contempt.

And sitting here thinking about it, I am reminded again how important forgiveness is. I have no right to hold something over his head or to say I am better than him...because I've sinned, too. I've made mistakes. I'm no better than he is....in fact....generally speaking, I think it is the opposite...I think he is a better person than I am most of the time.

I think the opposite of forgiveness is contempt. Contempt is angry and prideful and judging. I think like all the other sins of the heart and mind, Contempt will hurt the one harboring it far more than the person toward whom it is directed.

And on the other side is forgiveness which is freeing and beautiful and releases 2 souls from bondage. Forgiveness is love and humility. Elder Uchtdorf said,

" Part of the purpose of mortality is to learn how to let go of such things. That is the Lord’s way."

I want to live in the way of the Lord. I am desperate for His forgiveness and love. I hope that I can let go of this while still holding on to the lessons that I have learned. I love him and appreciate all that he is and does for our family. Losing him in my life would be worse than any other pain. He is worth my forgiveness. I can only try to be worthy of his.

Reprogramming

I don't know how to write this. I have a million thoughts bouncing around in my head, but I don't know how to get them all out without writing for a few hundred pages.

I've had this song stuck in my head the past few days:

Here I am; take my hand. Savior, lead me through this land. Hear my humble plea for courage in this world of sin and strife. O Savior, please guide my life.

Here I am; take my hand. Walk beside me through this land. Let me hear the voice of knowledge, understanding truths today. O Savior, please show the way.

I've already discussed my struggles with self worth, so I won't go into that again. I really don't want a pity party. I only bring it up because knowing how difficult it is for me to believe that I am valued and loved helps you understand what a big step it was for me to feel like so many things that were said in church today were meant just for me.

I'm really fighting the urge to qualify that last sentence with something about how there were probably other people at church today who needed to hear the same thing, thereby downplaying the possibility that I mattered enough to have a lesson just for me when I needed to hear it.

The lessons were nothing particularly new, and the subject matter was not particularly profound. But I found myself really connecting with what was being taught.

In Sunday School, we discussed John chapters 3 and 4. The first half of the lesson was about Nicodemus, a member of the Sanhedrin who snuck out to inquire of the Savior. It strikes me even now that Christ took the time to answer honest questions.

But it was the second half of the lesson that really caught my attention. It is about the Samaritan woman at the well. She was a Samaritan. She was a woman. She had had multiple husbands and was then living with a man who was not her husband. She was a sinner. She was by all accounts not the kind of person you would expect the King of Kings to confide in. And yet He does...He reveals bluntly and profoundly to her His divinity. He takes the time to speak with and teach her. And when someone in the classroom mentions in almost an offhand way "why is this even in the scriptures?" I thought, to teach us that there is no one who is too low by the standards of economics, society, or righteousness that they no longer qualify for the love and doctrines of the Savior. His gospel is for all: rich, poor, disciple or not, righteous or wicked. His gospel and His atonement is for everyone...even me.

And then in Relief Society, the lesson was about agency and the ability to choose. And I have no idea how it came up, but the teacher said, "Christ loves all of us, and His atonement was performed for everyone...not everyone except you." Aren't those the very thoughts that I've harbored for so long?

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I thought of a quote from a blog posting that I had read recently. She said, (and I'm going to emphasize it because I think it's really profound):

The battle today, between Babylon and Zion, is being waged between the synapses of our brains.

 I think very often in life, we put our brains on autopilot. We just do the things that we always do, the things we need to do. We need to make consistently right choices so that when we are faced with a hard day, autopilot can take over and get us to the places that we need to be.

When I was young, I had already decided what kind of life I wanted to live. I knew what my answers were to the hard questions. I had already made the choice. And so when I was in college and someone offered me a beer for the first time, even though emotionally I wanted to fit in and on a certain level I was just plain curious, autopilot kicked in and I was saying "No, thank you, I don't drink," before I even realized what was happening.

In the past month, I've programed my autopilot to a certain level of paranoia. Now is the time to reprogram. I need to build new habits. My husband does, too. I guess that is how we build trust...trust is a habit...just like fear and paranoia. If everything has an opposite, I guess habits do, too.