I've still got a boatload of Draft contents to purge, but it's snowing in Stepford and I have some time on my hands today. I've been spending the last several hours marinating on the state of my life, my hopes, my fears, and my insecurities. And I have a good portion of each. Especially today, and I'm working through the Why in the background as I write here.
A friend of mine told me yesterday: "you should consider writing a pocket guide on the stages of an affair ... seriously, your verbage is supreme" which was soothing to my ego, especially during a weird night.
She's early on in the aftermath of her husband's affair. And being tempted by the attention of a male friend at present. And who am I to give any advice? I have failed miserably at this whole deal. Sh!t, ya'll, why do we still believe in Happy Ever After and continue keep a light on for someone, hoping they will be the one? The one who buys in. Who convinces you to buy in - again. Who loves you like crazy. Who makes it worth the wait. Who you are willing to be broken over.
If you live long enough, there's always wreckage. The degree varies, but the longer I live...
It's a testament to the human condition that we will optimistically try try again, either with 'the one who brung us', or - almost more risky at times - someone new, unknown, un-road-tested. Will your separate baggage make a matched set?
How good are the odds? (and how odd are the goods?) I'm in a bad mood today, so I'm bending more pessimistic on this one, if ya hadn't noticed.
Just how self-aware/self-actualized are you willing to become on your journey? There's no forward movement in this life or any other, if you don't do the work. And just when I pat myself on the back, some well-placed bullsh!t puts me in my place and reminds me of my shortcomings.
Oh, good lord, people. Pull on the bridle, I've gone down some random path. Sorry.
ANYWAY.
In a bit, let's back up to around mid-June of this year, when things took a slow yet sharp turn for me.
Going to go play in the snow with kids & try to shake this black cloud of ominous doom. Hang tight.
...Is that a word, Snarkiness? Or should I spell it Snarkyness?
Anyway, every post I'm composing over here in Stepford is sounding like a complete b*tch-fest (a/k/a Snarky), and that's not very nice, so I'm keeping them marinating in the Drafts folder until I can be a little more balanced.
Which does not seem to be today. Dammit.
I'm mad and frustrated and hurt and p*ssed off. And it's not even PMS-week. But I still want to be fair, since the pen is mightier than the sword and all that.
As my husband attests, I love to be miserable, and the victim, and in the middle of Drama. Yes and no. Drama, yes, I've copped to that before. Victim? check, but I've been working to confess those times in the past and act accordingly in the present. Miserable? It may be a familiar thing in my life, but I don't aim to be miserable, or want it. That pisses me off. Take this fcuking misery, you can have it.
Ugh. My snow-covered acorn is becoming an avalanche. Will post an update when I recover my center.
Fire up a colortini, sit back, relax, and watch the pictures, now, as they fly through the air.
-broadcaster Tom Snyder,1935-2007
Wheeee! Lots of sh!t flying through the air.
Sure enough, I open my mouth and satan sees where to get me. Fcuker. The engine noise has been so loud in the last week, I just want to lay down and give up. He who is in me is greater, He who is in me is greater, He who is in me....
I am weary of this seesaw I live on. Hope - and change, and then backsliding and nothing good. Fall is in the air ...literally.
Ya'll, truly. I'm ashamed to post anymore. I cannot imagine what a fcuking SNORE it is to read 'hey, big insight' and then 'hey, i still suck'. I hate being me, and then every once in a while I don't. I keep pushing this elephant up the stairs, I keep blowing it, yet I keep having hope. Many days, I honestly do not know why, other than God won't let me quit completely. And, lucky you, are stuck on the ride with me.
I also feel like I'm giving God a bad rap. Not like I'm some big influence or He can't take it, but I keep saying Yay God about stuff that happens, thinking I'm on the upswing, giving Him credit. And then BOOM, I crash, my inner garbage coming out from underneath the carpet where I've apparently swept it, and it kind of makes God look bad to those of you who don't know Him well.
I am not representing Him worth a sh!t. This is not God's fault, it's mine. And looking back over old posts from last fall/winter, some of my world is different and yet much of my Insight remains un-acted-upon. Again, that's my fault. Emotional impotence.
I have seen changes in me, and I write those first to encourage myself. The most positive changes have been with my children. I have been, in the past, a scary horrible no-good parent. Selfish, downright mean, and easily irritated by small people who were not intentionally doing me harm.
Every parent struggles with pieces of this puzzle, but my struggles were more than sleep-deprivation and normal stress. There was a black place inside me, still is, that puts a shield between myself and my family. Cannot put words on it, but it was ugly with the people who least deserved it. And rose up in a swift tsunami-type fashion when it came.
If nothing else, that change in me is Real. And I weep, that deep-down painful sorrow of regret, when I think back. I would give anything, anything to rewind -and tape over- that part of my movie.
I look back in my rearview mirror with a clarity that I don't have in The Moment (or The Month, or The Year). Honestly, I feel like I'm several years behind myself. Like now, for instance. I'm learning much about me that would have SO better served me two years ago. But it's not enough to know it now, because such damage was done in the interim that I need bigger forces than Two-years-ago-Insight. Capice?
Like bringing in FEMA way too late for Katrina; would have been beneficial on the ground before landfall, not playing catch-up in its wake. Bigger forces (military, etc) were needed in the aftermath - and even then, it was impossible to 'fix'. Granted, hindsight and all. Who can know what is needed ahead of time, or how much destruction we'll find ourselves in, etc. But really, ya'll. You know what I'm saying? I am just now getting the FEMA funds in, far too late for where the circumstances are.
There is a deep piece of my heart that swings in a free fall, scared and frightened. It looks for a place to grab onto something safe, but chooses people & circumstances to validate me. Especially my husband: please love me, please like me, please find me to be good, please please please.
Nothing 'sticks' to my heart, it's like Teflon. God sees me as I really am: filthy rags. BUT. He also sees me through the blood as I am in Jesus, worthy of love. Why can't that stick to me?
I wander through life like a Wemmick, letting people put their gold stars or red dots on me as they choose. Even those don't stick: and not for the good reason in the story, but because the ways of other-seeking validation don't work.
I'm no fool. I am actually a smart person, good student, quick study. But not where the rubber meets the road obviously. I'm an asset to most situations - outside of my own home. For the most part, I like who I am with everyone else in my world. I've learned to be a better friend to people, really be interested in them and concerned for their wellbeing, I accept responsibility for dropping the ball - personally with friends, or professionally with coworkers. Quickly. I don't need to be reminded or prompted for that.
At home I do. It has taken the better part of three years for me to to step around the screen of My Defensiveness with my children - my own children, for fcuk's sake - and apologize when necessary. My husband had to call me out, listen to me deflect like a petulant teenager, and finally, I would say I was sorry about something to my own child. I am sick at myself when I think of it all. This was not some isolated incident; it happened often.
On the thank-you-Jesus flipside, I can now spot when it happens without a Proctor/Chaperon/Husband present and apologize immediately to my children, with a non-deflecting explanation. Even more than half the time (praise God), I can see it coming and stop the Bad in a pre-emptive strike, completely foregoing the need for apology and repentance. Am I making any sense? she asks the invisible internet.
But I can do none of these things with my own husband. There have been very itty-bitty-small, too-little-too-late FEMA-type improvements, but again, they are small in proportion to where we are -and where I need to be with this stronghold. I need to be down the road a-piece, people. And I don't move. Much. WTF?
I do not, without great wailing/gnashing of teeth- if ever - say "you're right, i'm wrong" right off the bat. I imagine myself being able to do it, but when we arrive at an opportunity: WALL. Fear. Defense. And it's only with my spouse. I will own up to anything, anywhere. Elsewhere. Here online, at work, with my counselor - about the very thing my husband has told me. I can't think of anywhere else that I do NOT eat my sandwich I made.
But to his face, in the moment? I am mute, with my insides contorting. Dying to connect in a real way, yet placing a firm wedge between us that grows larger with each conversation: But that's not what I meant, I never said that, I didn't do that. Because, as he so aptly puts it, if I am never wrong he is the one who always must be. That's not relational balance, nor is it fair. Dammit, I am NOT this person. I'm not. But here I am, having been her for the better part of my life.
This screams "Trouble with Authority Males over Me", as there is only him really. And God. I fool myself that I'm cool with God, just not my husband. I'm probably not cool with either of them. This is something else my husband has suggested. And, like all his points, I cannot come to grips with in his presence, yet mull it over afterwards. He thinks I don't believe anything he mentions or insights, but that's not it.
I've been on my knees about this problem, and others, and continue to be. And will continue to be, until He changes me or I die. I can't do this alone. I crave relationship, yet am so damaged. The area of Relationship is where my damage was done initially (childhood/innocence/trust betrayed, etc). Why do you think it's hard for me to even trust God, a heavenly Father, when parental relationship was so perverted in my reality.
I have no excuses: yes, my past is why I've made all these fortresses to my heart, but I no longer live in a battlefield. I should not function like I do, to the detriment of everything I ever wanted. And years behind the learning curve.
I see through a lens of competition with my husband. I want to be Good Enough, I think he's a Better Person, I reflexively feel like a Loser and/or Belittle him in some way. Not always directly, just not Building Him Up or Supporting him. I pray for the know-how to Get Over Myself and my implanted fear that if he is a Happy, Successful human being, he'll want nothing from me or not need me. Or find someone Better. This is a whole different topic, but it all ties in to the tangle that is my black, ugly places. Fear is immobilizing
Ironically, or not so much, I do Build Him Up in my conversations about him. Just not to him. Like it's Giving In, or some such bullsh!t. Again, in my rational mind, I see all (well, most) of my wrong behaviors and know I need to change. Every opportunity reveals my failures.
He's really a good man, my husband. And I really want to be a good woman. In general, but especially in my home. I want to be well-matched with him. I want to be vulnerable with him, rest in him. I have likely never done that, at least not since we were very newly in love maybe. The undercurrent of Us is static and tension, as I manipulate all things in order to Keep Me Comfortable. I want victory where I've previously had nothing but defeat. But I want it on my own, not depending on him to validate me. And this is where it's so tricky. Where I fall down.
So easy to see it in your mind, especially after the fact, but impossible to implement. I am NOT the one person too fcuked up for God to fix. I just had to write that 'out loud' because I need the reminder. I'm too big for me to fix, but not for Him.
When "You're right, I'm wrong" about anything (but especially the big things) I pray to step over myself and tell him so. Within minutes, not hours, days or never. With God's help, and only through that, I will change.
From this day forward, I drag my sinful prideful self to a standing position and attempt to move forward. Again. Damn, ya'll.
...a little ditty about Forgiveness, that eternal pain in my ass.
I have been reading a book on and off since last summer. More off than on lately. That's how I roll, and I have several half-read books littering my life and nightstand. I am moving close to the end, pick it up here and there as I am led to do so.
Like tonight.
God's timing is so freaking perfect. That God, he's so clever.
We in Stepford had recently been having conversations about generational sins, and strongholds over us (read: Me), and not to get all Amityville Horror/Exorcist on you, the hold that satan has in various places in our (read: My) life. More on that in the Hope part, perhaps, but just to show you a glimpse of the view from here.
So I pop open to my bookmark and start reading. Italics are the author's words, and I jump around a bit in her text, but they should be credited solely to her (Sandra D. Wilson, Ph.D.), much of the emphases are mine.
Tonight's reading was a Relevant Trifecta: me as a child, me with my husband (and he with me), and me with my kids. Lots of things stirring around in my stew as I read.
[a client] realized that hurt people hurt people...
[on the misperception that forgiveness makes the incident/hurt become 'no big deal']: On the contrary...sin is such a colossal 'big deal' that it needs to be forgiven. Excusing, minimizing, trivializing it won't work. It must be forgiven - not denied or discounted.
...even when we have sincerely chosen to forgive, we may need to settle for very limited reconciliation with some people. Their emotional problems or lifestyle choices may preclude anything more.
But even after sincere commitments [to forgive], we can be blown temporarily off course by painful memories or other violent emotional storms....It's important to remember that only God forgives perfectly. The rest of us have to keep working at it with continual recommitment.
...would an apology pay for a repeated betrayal of your trust? In fact, ask yourself, what could those [people] in your past possibly ever do to make up for what happened? In effect, they own a debt they can never repay. Can you see the picture? There they are, standing in front of you with empty hands and pockets, utterly unable to pay for the past. And there you are facing a choice that will shape your future.
...forgiving is not merely difficult; it is humanly impossible. Forgiving is not natural to human beings. We are more in tune with 'an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth'. As a result many of us go through our lives and our relationships blind and toothless! We blind and toothless Christians operate from a double standard when it comes to grace. We enjoy relating to God by grace but we insist on relating to others by law.
God is not playing games with us about forgiveness. He doesn't call us to forgive without supplying the power to do it
...our postsalvation sins may be the ones that haunt us most. Though we can't disappoint God (his expectations are always realistic), we can grieve Him. He knows how destructive the results of our sin will be in our lives and in the lives of others.
...[a client] learned that confessing her sins was no substitute for forsaking them....to "help" God in punishing her she had dropped out of ... activities that brought her joy.
...you may have confessed your sins...but have you confessed your complete forgiveness? ...But do you believe it? I mean, do you believe it for you?
It's true that I don't know how horrible your sin might be. But I know how great God's grace is. And I know that either "the blood of Jesus, his Son, purifies us from all sin" (I John 1:7) or God is a liar. 'All sin' includes even yours - and mine.
These words really spoke to me, and she specifically points to intergenerational forgiveness and sins, going on to talk about parenting and passing on the hurts, etc.
So.
Ya'll know. I need to forgive my mother. Again. And again. I need to forgive my husband. Again, and again. My husband needs to forgive me. Again, and again.
My children will learn that they need to forgive me. Again, and again. And I am breaking the cycle by ASKING THEM for forgiveness the minute I realize I've wronged them. In word, or tone, or deed. And, thank God, so far they always do.
That perpetual (yet, hopefully diminishing-) cycle of recommiting to forgive when we get temporarily derailed by painful memories or pissed-off-ness about being 'wronged' past or present. And to remember that it is temporary, because it was emotion-based. And, hello? Have you met me? I could go on a pro-am tour showcasing Emotional Rodeo Riding.
This is a Part 1 of a personal journal entry from March 20th of this year. I don't know how to love well (nor have I been well-loved). I know how to love wildly, be passionate, love you when it's convenient. When it's hard or difficult, I say I love you but I don't show it. I'm selfish, my grace is limited and conditional. I want to be placed in the best possible light, the most flattering.
I was a victim, and I continue to want to be one if I don't get my way. That way it's all your fault. I don't have to take any blame. You have to fight me to get me to own any "bad" in me, my situation. I will whine and poor-me when things are going poorly in a 'well, I'm just a big piece of sh!t' kind of way - it's a blanket I use to cover a multitude of sins quickly and painlessly without having to own any individual faults, or examine my specific part.
It's so automatic. SO automatic. Deflect, deflect. Get this bad stuff OFF of me. Did that literally come from the sexual abuse? Get. Off. Of Me. Now I push even good people away. Push. Elbows locked.
I am like my mother. I fcuking hate how my mother is. I see so little good there - can't remember good because of all the bad about her. I am repeating history to some degree. No wonder the bad looks so big. In the interactions/avoidance. In the won't-take-blame. In the Quick-to-Anger. In the Quick-to-Sarcasm. In the Instant-Cutting-Tone-of-Voice. In the Poor-Me/Serve-Me attitude. In the laziness toward the work of changing.
What if I were married to a man who -putting it mildly- was not nice to me over the years.
Who had been known to yell Fcuk You! Go To Hell! or call me a B!tch. Who had hit meor pushed me when mad. Who had thrown things across the room in anger.
Who made me feel unimportant, incorrect, disrespected, or stupid on a regular basis. Who, armed with his vast knowledge about me, was able to bury verbal daggers deep in my soul with pinpoint precision. Over. And. Over. And. Over.
Who was able to hurt me deeply with his words. Who attacked me as a person, the core of goodness that I am and can be.
Who scoffed at any effort I made to do something nice for him. Who immediately felt I was not doing enough, in whatever capacity, to make him happy.
Who belittled or ignored what was important to me. Who showed me less respect than a stranger on the street.
Who made me feel unsafe. Who frankly scared me in his volatility and unpredictability. Who would I see at the end of each day? The nice man or the mean man? Who made each entry to my home filled with inner dread. Who denied me a safe harbor from the outside world.
A man I could not trust to look out for my best interest if it conflicted with his. Who always protected himself first, to the detriment of my emotional safety or the marriage itself.
A man who would not guard my heart. Who would not place it on a soft pillow and keep it safe if I handed it to him. Who I could not confide in, for fear he would use the information against me when angered.
Who apologized through the years, but did not change.
Who was no Partner to me. Who did not encourage my Best Self. With whom, I felt more alone than in an empty room.
Wouldn't you tell me to Leave Him? Get The Hell Out? Have Him Arrested?
Now. What if this person is me.
My husband the abused spouse.
Harder to believe, isn't it?
I am ashamed that it is true. Mortified. Crushed. Humiliated.
He's taken much pounding. For years. He can't even pretend to trust me with his heart or his feelings. And he's had good reason to get to this point in the road. I've laid him low.
I could lace my words with excuses and justifications, and all the years I didn't see it.
But even after Seeing It, I have snapped like a rubber band right back to being a selfish, mean person. And who cares why? FcukWhy. Half my blog is an exercise in Justifying The Why.
At the end of the day, I am proven to be irreparable. Because all it boils down to is a good man knocked down long enough and hard enough to have nothing left to trust me with.
Fair enough. I don't blame him. I cannot possibly. I've been here in this house, too.
I am toxic. Me. It's me.
And don't even fcuking comment about how awful his affair was, girlfriend, and you have every reason to be mad, hateful, or ugly.
Just save it. This so pre-dates affair.
My husband stood by me for years while I was flailing about, knocking the wind out of him.
I have focused so long on all that Is Not. Seeing the holes in the colander that drained the water out, instead of the pasta that was held inside.
His affair is the One Big Wrong Thing he did in a Lifetime of Right Things. (there are other Small things but in the interest of the Big Picture, work with me here)
By comparison, I am a Lifetime of Big Wrong Things with Scant Right Things.
Years of counseling, different therapists, journaling, prayer, have all been fruitless in changing this piece of my equation.
After I've done -or said- something mean to him, he has pointed it out to me, I have seen it (especially since December 2005) and apologized. And meant it, I promise you. But the damage was already done by my actions or words, and progress stopped. And then we recycle the pattern in some other fashion. Rinse and repeat.
I need a dog shock collar that zaps me before I'm an as$hole. To stop me from doing years-worth more damage with each incident. But I don't have that. And my Decent Person filter only works about 5-10% of the time.
And now I have a husband who doesn't trust me, won't talk to me about his real feelings for fear I will really screw him with them, and is scared of me, of what I will do to him. Has been at this point, or almost, for so long that he probably cannot separate out when the relationship was actually destroyed.
I thought cutting communication with my family of origin last year was a step in the right direction. I thought being a better, more patient, loving parent was a step. I thought counseling, praying to God, people praying for me, all these things would effect a change in my life.
I thought wrong. And I don't deserve this man to do any more 70-times-7 forgiving or trusting. If he was beating me, should I forgive him each time he hit me and come back for the next blow? No. I don't think so. Nor should he have to.
I had to come to the computer to work this out in words. To see it in black and white. I've had to stop typing several times during this post to just grieve. Hard. I fcuked up. Over. And. Over. And. Over.
I told him I wish there were more words for Sorry, like the eskimos have so many different words for Snow. I am so sorry, in a myriad of ways, but my words don't ring true anymore because my actions haven't followed up. I just want a Reset button on my life. And I don't get one.
I haven't been able to sleep. I lay awake thinking of all God brought me through as a child. He led me out of a horrible life to a road on the way to Happily Ever After. I didn't deserve it. I didn't understand it. I didn't protect it and keep it safe. I went on autopilot and ruined my relationship with the one person who ever believed in me.
A few days ago, like many of you, we had a big fat storm. Snow and wind. Wind Wind Wind.
Gusts up to 70 mph (74 mph is considered hurricane force). This was serious business.
Trees fell. All that wasn't secured went flying. People lost power.
It left all things clean in its wake.
In our area are fields where cows and horses graze, now clean and unmarred. I already thought fields were generally uncluttered areas, but they were markedly brighter, colorful, and pure looking.
And then when you saw the far edges of the fields, where fences or thick brush bordered the open areas: Trash. Debris blown up against them - dry cleaning bags, fast food cups, branches piled up where their exits were prevented.
I am reminded this week how much I need winds in my life. I may think I'm pretty cleared out, but I'm just so used to my own junk I get to where I don't see it. Only when the gale forces blow through my life do I see how much sh!t is blown up against my edges.
This past year (and a half, ugh) I would not wish on anyone. It's been chaotic, devastating, lonely, terrifying, exhausting. But it continues to clean out my junk. My edges are plastered with wreckage, but my middle field is clearer than it's ever been.
My husband would likely argue otherwise; I still defend and deflect as a Default setting in any uncomfortable conversation where I might be Wrong. My shields go up automatically, and he is tired of arguing them down again.
We don't have "normal people" arguments, and we never had from Day One. Because I don't know what that looks like. I did not grow up seeing any example of healthy conflict. You either screamed, verbally attacked the other person as a piece of sh!t, used LOTS of sarcasm, walked away, or hit them. You never admitted you were wrong.
I would give anything to hang around a healthy couple when they have disagreements. To witness this elusive holy grail in real life.
I feel completely handicapped here. I think of how frustrating it is for stroke patients who have expressive aphasia: they know in their brains the word they want to say, the concept they want to communicate, but they are physically unable to SAY IT. Their brains cannot bridge the gap from concept to spoken word. This ultimate frustration brings otherwise strong adults to tears. I have some secondary understanding of their struggle.
Last year, The Husband was at the grocery store and saw a twenty-something couple in frozen foods. They were arguing yet good natured about it, and eventually resolved their conflict - ALL in the grocery store! Within a few aisles! Sounded like a movie scene to me; that far removed from my reality. He ached for that kind of communication when he saw it, came home and told me about it, how he longs for it with me. I ache for it in the way you ache to win the lottery. You want it, bad, but you don't really know what it's like - so completely foreign to what you know day-to-day.
I feel like the biggest failure in the world here, because I want to be the girl in Frozen Foods. You have no idea. But I am clueless about bridging the gap between wanting to be healthy in conflict, and the fist that squeezes my aorta when I feel threatened.
I hate this part of me. Every time a brutal, yet ultimately cleansing, wind blows through my life in this area I think, This is It. I am going to finally be able to change, just because I want it so much. Because I am convinced that I am further along in my autobiography. But then, mere days later, not so much.
LOSER, my soul cries out. Fraud, pretender, hoax.
And then the insidious whisper: he would have been happier with she-who-shall-not-be-named. she was so much better than you will ever be. you will never be good enough for him to love.
Blow, wind, blow. Take this trash out of my field.
An old, old, old entry never posted... I am weary of crying myself to sleep alone. I'm tired of being at work so much. I miss my kids. I miss having a life. A real one, with laughter, and flirting, and silent smiling eye contact, and touch. And TIME. OMgosh, ya'll, I physically ache from touch withdrawl. I'm tired of hugging myself in bed at night so I don't fly apart. I'm so sad. I need to increase my meds. I want to be something more than someone's pain in the ass. Someone to avoid each day. And each night. Continuously. Without end.
I know a lot of sh!t is my fault. I know it. But I'm tired of being so alone. Unloved. So, so tired. Just a bad night, long hours at work, not enough sleep. I'm sure people pay good money for the salty facials I give myself at night with my tears. I can't even see the fcuking monitor. A glance at his lower back in passing makes my heart hurt. I want to kiss his arms as they grip the steering wheel.
I want him to want my skin touching his. He does not. I am blessed to get a foot touching mine in the late night when he returns to bed. I am not being facetious. I am blessed to have it. I love to feel his skin, and if that is all I get so be it. I am just sad he may never want it again. That his Default mode is sleeping-with-his-back-facing-wife. Only when I leave the bed does he turn to face my side. Even while sleeping. It's that deeply ingrained to Avoid Me.
We live a life of halves. Our clean laundry barely touches in the hamper. His side. My side. I want it all mixed up together. He separates it. So I do, too. I smell his shirts before they go in the washer. I cannot even imagine him doing something like that. (Not with mine)
I see potential for so much positives, but it's like the bridge washed out and we just look at each other over the chasm and think, well, damn. that's too bad. When a quick look around and some joint effort would build something better.
I see other people light up when I walk in. He doesn't anymore. He goes dimmer. Other people used to comment about how I would light up when I saw him. Did he ever notice that? Does it matter? Save a place for me Save a space for me In your heart In your heart -Tracy Chapman
You break me open -Jars of Clay
I like the dreams of the future better than the history of the past. -Thomas Jefferson
Happiness is nothing more than good health and a bad memory –Albert Schweitzer I grew up sexually abused. I've since learned that we 'survivors' have a universal habit of looking at our situation as Could Have Been Worse Than It Was.
I do it, too. Mine has always been: Well, at least it wasn't a blood relative (because it wasn't my biological father). I don't know why we do this, but we do. In order not to drown in the Awfulness of it all? To find someone who Had It Worse?
I don't know. I do know that about 10 years ago, I was a part of a group of sexual abuse survivors who met for several months. It was my first time with Real Life other people "like me" and it was eye-opening. It also reinforced my habit of 'downplaying' my abuse. OMGosh, these women had it SO bad. Fathers and brothers abusing them, their pasts so traumatic that most of them had gaping holes in their memories where they couldn't remember everything, most of them overweight in an effort to 'hide' themselves and their bodies from being attractive.
I, on the other hand, remained thin, had no problem remembering every second of my abuse vividly, and it was 'only' my stepfather not a "real" relative. (and because my mother didn't end up marrying him for years later, he really wasn't even 'related' to me at the time of the abuse). So I concluded again that It Could Have Been Worse. When anyone hears that I was abused (it's precious few that know), and that subsequently had a problematic marriage they assume that I have "sex" problems. That my husband Wants It, but I must have some Post-Traumatic Sex Disorder.
As we all know here, that's not an issue for me. Not in my marriage anyway, but it was once a hill to climb.
I was pretty sexual early on; that seems to be the fork in the road for abuse victims: they either shut down their sexuality as 'dirty', or else go hog-wild to the other end. I threw sex around without much concern. The more the better. Oink.
Yet, I recall crying silently during The Act on more than one occasion. College, mostly. In the missionary position, I have some vivid memories of wanting to scream, to claw, to Stop It, (with a long-term boyfriend whom I really did love) -and yet I remained silent and wept secretly into his shoulder as I grit my teeth.
There was this one summer of unspecified angst, and then it somehow worked itself out. I have never felt that way again during sex. [With one exception, but it wasn't an abuse flashback, I was just having sex with someone who I wished was someone else. So that doesn't really count, but it was the same wanting-to-scream-while-crying-silently misery, so I'll include it here in my quest for full disclosure].
It did take me some years to quit being all about my partner's pleasure, to the exclusion of my own. That was just general ignorance -coupled with the desire for 'power' in the bed (residual from not having any power previously, I'm sure). Now I really love the idea of being 'taken' and controlled in a sexy, eyes-open, healthy-relationship type of way. So I've come full circle, I suppose.
I actually discovered my first non-faked orgasm completely by accident with my college boyfriend. So that's what the big deal was. Sex had been fun, but it got a LOT more fun that year. And I learned how to ask for what I wanted, which I learned (surprise) was pretty appealing. You know, I haven't done that kind of asking in many years. Shame on me. Something to change.
I think about that "bad sex" time occasionally because -in hindsight- I'm grateful for it. [Edited to Add: the time I'm speaking about here is the college-boyfriend-time. Needed to clarify] It was brutal, but it exorcised a demon out of me. I've never felt 'abused' before, during, or after consensual sex. That, I think, was a God thing. Only He could fix that so decisively. And I'm thankful to not have that issue on the table. Life's hard enough.
[Hey, I appreciate the comments from my slamfest. Very much. But it was helpful to take a look at myself from their point of view. I'm good, thanks. Oh, I am so not the hero, Mr. PhD. Not by a mile. Ask my husband - although thanks for the shoutout.] Insanity has been defined as doing the same old thing over and over and expecting different results. -unknown
Jeez, ya'll. I went back to look at this blog from the beginning, got to about October of last year and hit the brakes, discouraged. I'm sure I'll keep reading later but why the hell are you?
I am a fcuking yoyo if you look at the Big Picture. Self-aware one day, Ignorant the next. Thoughtful one day, Selfish the next. Have a plan one day, Emotionally lose control the next. What a gigantic PITA I see overall.
I'm emotionally unpredictable. So much so that my sweet little family is uncomfortable, and tiptoes around me if I am moody (which has been often). I control the household with fear. Is she in a good mood? Will she be nice to me or not? That makes me sick. Look: I was all excited last September about changing my tone of voice, threw myself a little blog parade about it. There's been no permanent change there: just had an issue with that two days ago with my daughter. Sh!t.
What the hell is all this therapy for, if change is a)slow and yet b) not long-lasting. I'm convinced that all this going-back-in-time-to-relive-past-traumas in therapy is pretty much a load of sh!t for actually moving forward. It firmly plants you in the past. I know all the crap that happened to me in my childhood. I know my issues. I know how I got here. I know why I am wired the way I am. Fcuk that, now let's FIX it. I need solutions, how to change my world NOW.
This belief is backed up by at least one well-known therapist, Michele Weiner-Davis: It's my belief that couples in crisis don't have the luxury to analyze how they were raised in order to find solutions to their marital problems. If your therapist is focusing on the past, suggest a future-orientation.
I agree: I am not on board that all this going back is where it's at. If so, I would have long ago been the Poster Child for a changed life, I've been in counseling of some sort for years on end. I'm just funding their annual vacations.
It's like rearranging the deck chairs on the Titanic. The ship is going down, people. Let's get on a life boat, to safety, and then analyze why the ship sank and go salvage what we can from it.
I can't find the exact quote, but Davis doesn't believe in ignoring the past issues once the marriage is OUT of crisis. Address the crisis first, then go back. Makes sense to me.
She also says: Know that most marital problems are solvable. Don't let your therapist tell you that change is impossible. Human beings are amazing and they are capable to doing great things- especially for people they love.
This is where my rubber hits my road. If I loved my husband (and by extension, kids) enough, I should be doing my "great things" for the "people I love", right? Perhaps the "people I love" most is me. And so I spin my life and actions/inactions thusly. I can't just keep overreacting in the name of What's Not Happening in My Marriage. God, what a mess.
More from Michele: Just keep in mind that forgiveness isn't a feeling. It is a decision. You decide that you are going to start tomorrow with a clean slate. Even if it isn't easy, you make the determination that the alternative is even harder, and that you are going to do what you must to begin creating a more positive future.
I have made that decision, several times in the last year, and then backslide based on emotions and impatience. I have to keep my eyes on the goal instead of the immediate. I am one to extrapolate that What's Happening Now is What Will Always Be Happening. It's inaccurate, and a self-fulfilling prophesy. I think my husband does this too, and we both keep doing the same things, and yet thinking we will change (see above definition of Insanity).
At one point (albeit an all-too-brief one) I really thought we were getting somewhere in this marriage post-explosion. There was a window of connection and positive movement last May (pre-blogging) then it dissipated. When I think of what I want with my husband, I think about last May - not pre-affair. There was an openness, connection, and sweetness that was starting to appear between us. That time is where my lingering Hope For Us springs from, despite all evidence to the contrary.
And then the relationship faltered, stalled, and shifted into Reverse. And ran over tire spikes. Blew every tire on the damned vehicle. We seem to have accepted that our car won't run, since it's been such a long time since it started. Hoping that the tow truck will arrive by telepathy, or some such crap.
[We've talked about it since, and neither one of us is quite sure what factors were in place that made those positive interactions real. Or else we'd be re-creating it.]
We're waiting for the right feelings before we do the right actions. And that's just bullsh!t and backwards. Part of our solution is that we need to ACT as healthy married folk do and trust the feelings to FOLLOW. It's like reading the Bible, to me. I know I should, and I drag my sorry ass over to do it when I'd rather be checking my email or doing something less important. But I MAKE myself do what I ought, and AFTER I've done it I FEEL better. I am not feeling particularly close to God before I do it, but afterwards I DO feel closer. Action first, then feeling. Makes sense, right? So why can't we just GET ON THE TRAIN?
Because: ultimately I'm scared to death to be hurt again, crave reassurance I don't have/doesn't stick, and stay in the state of partial dread that I may hear the words that he wants out anyway.
Because: ultimately he is uncomfortable in my presence, having to police my emotions, never knowing when I might 'blow'. I exhaust him; he's past putting in effort because it's not rewarded. I appreciate it, and ten minutes/two hours/one day later I've forgotten it because it wasn't enough, and I'm disappointed in what we still don't have. All we are not. Terrified it will never Compare To. And therefore, it doesn't. What you focus on expands.
At this point we are lost as to how to hit the "reset" button. If this marriage is supposed to be Over, at least I want to run at it well and hard before I call it a day. To hold hands and just Jump. Both of us. We are so wary to do it now. Because it's been 'bad' for longer than it was 'good' - that if we commit to jump, it still won't work. Or that one of us will pull the ball out from under us, a la Lucy and Charlie Brown.
There are layers upon layers of emotional complication, and I just want to somehow Wipe It Out, and say fcuk it, let's go.
Look at this promising comment after a post from The Husband's Story last year: I agree with all you said. It's so not worth it. I'm so glad I made it. When I went to couseling, they told us, "Write love notes (just little ones) and leave them places for each other, give her flowers even when you don't feel like it, say I love you even if it feels empty. My husband and I did that and we slowly started to fall in love again. The actions came before the feelings. Now we are doing so much better.
Short of a brain/emotional transplant, I am going to have to rely on doing the right thing being its own reward. No unmet expectations derailing me. Just me & God for a while. As it should be. I always start out strong, and then -pfft- poop out from loneliness, exhaustion, or a wayward thought that ambushes me.
So promise yourself, that no matter what the reason, you will not go another day blaming your partner and feeling lonely. Make peace. Make up. Make love. I promise you that the benefits of deciding to forgive go far beyond anything you can picture in your mind's eye at the moment. Your decision to forgive will create a ripple effect of exponential changes in your life. -Michele Weiner-Davis
Do, or Do Not. There is no Try. -Yoda, in "The Empire Strikes Back"
"Pooh?" whispered Piglet. "Yes, Piglet? said Pooh. "Oh, nothing," said Piglet. "I just wanted to be sure of you." Piglet and I have something in common here. ::poke, poke:: just making sure you're there.
Only my poke is a sharp stick. In the eye. Or soft, tender flesh.
Like a bull in a china shop, I am completely out of hand. The tinkling of glass is heard initially, as I inadvertently drop a few things, and then ::CRASH:: sh!t is falling to the floor in great explosions as I turn around in spaces too small for my big emotions.
I end up arguing, hard, with my husband, when I just meant to poke him gently to be sure he's still there. It is never gently. At least not until after glasses have been shattered and I'm aghast at the mess I've made.
And then I just want to hit the imaginary "Reset" button and poke him gently, after my Monster emotions have been spent, and they are now sleeping quietly in the corner. And he, being a logical man, is dumbfounded. Are you f-ing kidding me? Get the hell away from the crazy, unpredictable person. Run, do not walk, to the nearest Exit kind of dumbfounded.
It is rare to have my husband's full-on undivided attention/extended eye contact unless he's upset, pissed off and arguing with me. That's a years-old thing now, and I've discovered a well, then, if that is how I get your time, I'm going to do it bit of a scenario.
And after said-argument's denoument, I feel closer to him in the big picture. Even though he likely feels miles away. I know it doesn't make sense, but it's been true after just about every argument we've had (with the exception of the Dark Time). When I realized this, I mentioned it to my counselor. Who, amazingly, didn't gasp in horror at my incongruence. She was quick to enlighten me with the Why.
I've engaged him, which is what my heart cries out to do. Yet, I've engaged him negatively. And at great cost to the relationship and long-term goals of intimacy. But the status quo for my husband is to be dis-engaged from me, unplugged.
I am searching to "plug in" some way, any way, and if I can't engage him positively, by God we end up arguing. It's awful, emotional, I am usually crying, it's fcuking exhausting to both of us. It goes on and on, and when it finally ends, I am left upset but feeling connected on some wackjob level.
I can't tell you how laser-guided missile accurate that was to hear.
While it's not pre-meditated, or intentionally cruel, it's my slippery slope. Motive doesn't matter when you end up in a bad place (the road to hell is paved with good intentions and all that).
And it usually happens after a prolonged period of disconnect, or when I have reached my emotional limit of Feeling Alone and Neglected.
And despite my inner groanings of 'growth' sprouted in my last post, we just had this very scene tonight. For hours. And my bull in the china shop was crashing all over the place. At my worst I hit him (in the shoulder) and threw something (small, unbreakable) across the room at the peak of frustration.
My eyes are still puffy from the boohoos. Monster emotions were at DEFCOM 5. No one should have to internally flinch when you're in the room, you know? For God's sake, this is how I grew up. This is the steamer trunk of baggage I have brought with me and unpacked in my own house.
My emotions are labile (ya think?). The conversation started decently and then -perhaps because my subconscious radar registered that he was not plugging in- it went south.
I am NOT proud to tell you this. To reveal more of the deepest, sewage-y Yuck I still have gurgling around in my psyche is galling. I am knotted all up inside.
But I want it out there. All of it. I have for a long time, but that's not as easy as it sounds. I try to tell (a select few) friends that, yes, I had my part in running my husband away. (Caveat To Prevent The Flood Of Indignant Emails: yes, it was ultimately his mistake to go outside the marriage for a false solution, and he had his own faults in the demise of the marriage, etc. but HELLO? do you see his side even a tee-tiny bit?)
They don't believe it. Not truly. I'm the Beauty Queen. I'm all surface. I'm funny and charming and enthusiastic (the flip side of which is Monster emotions and china-shopping bulls). You can't know me. And the one person who really did see my Ugliness, walked away for a time.
But he is also still here. And at my basest, insecure depth, I cannot begin to understand why.
Excuse me, I have to go brush off my knees. And elbows. Again.
It's not how many times you try and fail, it's how many times you fail and try again. -unknown
Be patient toward all that is unsolved in your heart. And try to love the questions themselves. -Rainer Maria Rilke
When we are no longer able to change a situation, we are challenged to change ourselves. -Viktor Frankl
In my clay feet of defensiveness and all-over protective gear, this seemingly easy task is crazyhard. I can read the books, see the picture, talk the talk. Walking the talk is a whole different ballgame.
But it's coming along.
Slowly.
And not without grand fcukups on my part. When frustrated, my Default settings are B!tchAboutIt and AttackWildly. I've fallen into doing that several times in the last month, re-setting the Spousal Goodwill Toward Wife meter to square one, or zero, or negative. I don't know where I stand at this point without a 6-week progress report.
Last week I had a few chances to put my money where my mouth is in the Change department.
One morning, things went bad. I had worked the night before, a long difficult shift, came home from work to find the house locked tighter than a drum, kids in PJs, husband still sound asleep. And school started in five minutes. He woke up apologizing, we scrambled to get them ready and instead of me getting to bed, I schlepped them to school myself. ::yawn::
Was I pissed and wildly inconvenienced? Absolutely. And normally, I would LET YOU KNOW ABOUT IT, BY GUM.
But, as I was driving to and from school, I turned it over in my brain and looked at things.
Just about any time I have screwed up big time, my husband has been amazing about it. He never makes me feel like sh!t. Never. He is supportive and okay with me in a crisis of circumstance. Always.
So, I pondered how to be that way myself. He didn't intentionally, or with malice, sleep in just to piss me off. Previously, I would have reacted as if he had, with a dammit, man, can't you do anything right? kind of undertone. This is definitely a FOO-learned behavior. And it's got to go.
He had their clothes laid out, backpacks ready, and lunches made - getting ready fast was much smoother than it would have been otherwise. I mean, we had the kids dressed and in the car in about ten minutes. So I focused on how he had them super organized the night before. I was grateful for him, and my attitude shifted.
By the time I arrived home, and he started the Repeating Apology (no doubt in anticipation of the bi-otch I would normally be), I was able to snuff it out by telling him how much I appreciated the fact that the kids were basically ready to go the night before from his prep work, he had made it easy, that was great of him, it was no big deal, it all turned out fine. And I wasn't Faking It. I had worked internally toward true OkayWithIt-ness and AppreciatingMyHusband. And I went to sleep. In a much better place than the old me would have been.
Scene Two:
We're at a sports event. It's been a fun day. I turn to say something to him in the crowded arena with one child between us. Call his name. Repeatedly. He is faced away from me watching something else. He's only 1+ seat away and doesn't acknowledge me. I keep saying his name loudly and he finally turns to me with an aggrevated, "What?!"
[insert divorce papers here]
I was so put out by then, I said "Nothing" and turned away. And proceeded to spend the next 15-20 minutes trying to salvage my attitude and re-gain my center. I had been having a good day. I do not need to let this one thing send me over the everything sucks, my life is over, my husband can't stand me edge. It was a long and protracted internal battle, but the good guys finally won. My Default settings were overridden, and my outlook improved. But, damn people, it was hard work. Would have been much easier to let that one perceived meanness take over, to quit talking to him, or slap a retort back into the fray.
A lot of this negative manifestation (or not) is up to me and my attitude. I don't mean to sound like a self-help book, but it sort of came to me on the way home that night that I am going to have to make a lot of internal effort that no one will even be seeing.
I think I've been just 'waiting' for things to change, my situation, my marriage, my husband, my attitude, everything. In sort of a passive mode, as if understanding the issues, praying about it, and knowing what should change would change it all.
I came to a (long-overdue) realization that I am going to have to Always Be Working At It. That this is going to be an Ongoing Effort On My Part. For a Long Time. And trust me, I'm going to fall down all over the place making mistakes here, but the fact that I just finally owned that part of the puzzle was something in itself.
Reading over this post, it sounds less significant than it was. Oh well. Some posts are only for me anyway.
There's your work, the other person's work, and God's work. All you are responsible for is your work. You cannot do the other person's work OR God's work: it's impossible. And anyway, you're only responsible for yours. -unknown
I just want to live happily-ever-after every now and then. -Jimmy Buffett
When trips to the library & free time were more readily available, I enjoyed the author, she's very fun. (click photo to travel to amazon.com) She wove some words together in this book that I took away with me, and use mentally a LOT:
The protagonist reflects on attending a stress-reduction seminar where they were instructed to imagine a safe and comforting place. She figured everyone else was envisioning warm beaches, and she couldn't find comfort in any of the standard imagery. She writes:
The place that I went, the place that I still go, was the warm hollowed-out center of a Bundt cake. It is usually gingerbread, though sometimes that changes. Sometimes it's gingerbread crowned in a ring of poached pears. The walls that surround me are high and soft, but as they go up they curve back, open up to the light, so I feel protected by the cake but never trapped by it. ...I press my cheek against the cake, which is soft as eiderdown and still warm. This isn't a fantasy about food exactly, at least not insofar as I want to eat my way through a cake that's taller than I am. It's about being inside of cake, being part of something that I find to be profoundly comforting.
She goes on to say
It was a laugh to think I was stressed when I signed up for that workshop. ...I remember it now and hang my head in disbelief. I want to go back to that person I was, take her by the shoulders and shake her. "Look again!" I want to say to myself. "You are standing in the middle of paradise." [emphasis mine]
Or as I nutshelled it, I was in the middle of the cake. But I was so obtuse I lost perspective for all that I had in my hands already. If only I had looked harder at myself, and my relationship(s).
I put my head in the sand, ignored the signs that I was in some poor patterns of behavior as a wife, parent, person. Ignore, ignore, stay busy, put priorities in all kinds of dumbass places (hobbies, busy-work, affirmation for tasks/committees), avoid relational intimacy, la la la.
In the aftermath of my life imploding, I realize almost daily that I was in the middle of the cake. I just want to sit in a corner and eat my hair when I think about it. I had so much, squandered vast potential. I'm trying not to lose hope of finding the cake again, even a cupcake.
Dammit. I crawled out of a very fcuked up childhood/adolescence and managed to knit together a decent human being.
And then, unbelievably, found the person who was my happily ever after. Cheesy as it sounds, it was all that. He was everything I ever wanted - and believeyoume I had kissed, etc my share of frogs to know. People commented that I lit up from the inside out when I saw him.
Then as times got stressful or difficult, as things in all progressing relationships will, I emotionally pulled away and attacked the one person who was on my team. For a long time.
I knew no other example of how to be, but I couldn't help it is of small comfort over here by myself. And I'm paying the price. Even now, when I know what not to do and why, I still grind against my Default settings.
My safe, loving, comforting places are gone, and I struggle with losing my soft spot to fall. To rest my loving gaze. To have it returned.
And lately, the heavens seem as brass. :::tap, tap::: is this thing on?
This book was recommended by my counselor, and I'm no stranger to the written word on emotional baggage, surviving past pain, etc ad nauseum. But this book communicates differently to me, insofar as it's not dry or un-relatable-to (ah, new vocabulary words abound).
I have been nibbling on this book since last summer in fits & starts. Life has been so exhausting that I haven't read straight through a book all at once in over a year (with one exception, & I'll share that with ya'll in another post).
There have been many many insightful, valuable, and relatable points made, but here's one I read a few days ago that I scrambled that very second to find a highlighter:
And the more intense the abuse we survived, the more intense our fear of abandonment.
I am all over that statistic.
My mother was married three times. 1st husband (my real father) I never really knew. Last time I saw him I was four years old. My mother didn't make an effort to foster our relationship, or one with anyone on that side of the family. We moved far away, and I suppose it was too "inconvenient" for her to maintain ties, so to them we just disappeared. After I was an adult and was able to find him, we communicated briefly . He died suddenly when I was 8 months pregnant, and I found out he secretly "took" my high-dollar inheritance from my grandmother, his late mother. I also found out that my grandmother hoped to find me again right up until she died, and kept two 8x10 photographs of me as a toddler in her home (that I now have). I did find cousins I had never known, and that was a blessing. But also very sad to me: as an only (read: lonely) child, I missed out on these relationships as a young person, and the feeling of 'belonging' to a large family.
2nd husband was wildy abusive and emotionally unstable. He hit walls, he hit me. I don't think he hit my mother, but she did miscarry a pregnancy during that marriage. I recall being whipped with a vacuum cleaner hose for missing a mutliplication flash card in 3rd grade. Fun times. Again, my mother was too wrapped up in her own internal survival to worry with my well being much. She said the final straw was him having come to bed after tucking me in, and he was visibly aroused. I don't remember any sexual weirdness from him, just violence, but it's bloody ironic it was my mother's final straw for that marriage, when she wouldn't leave the next one and he was raping me every weekend.
3rd husband was actually a non-husband. They lived together for about 15-20 years until the year I got married, and then they got married, too. Bring in the psychologists, b/c I don't even pretend to understand that move. First time I realized they were an 'item' I arrived home from school to discover them having sex in my bed. MY bed. WTF? And of course within a few years, I'm being sexually molested. Regularly. Bring on all the baggage, confusion, and shame that comes from that crap.
And these are just small pieces of my childhood. My early life was a recipe for chaos and mass confusion. When I look back, I'm actually pretty impressed with myself that I am not as fcuked up as I should be. Thank God.
Speaking of God, you can make the connection that anything resembling a Father Figure in my life was unsafe, unstable, and plain Bad News. God had some bad PR with me for a looooooong time. He also, in my limited knowledge, had abandoned me.
My mother's lack of protection and safety are a whole other series' of posts. I held on to defending her, in my mind, for a long time - as she was the only constant I had in my life. As I grew up, and especially once I had children of my own, I got crystal clear in how horrible of a mother she was on a very basic level.
Help yourself to my FOO abandonment issues. This fundamental issue bled into all other relationships in my life. To this day I have broken-heart-type emotions over being "left out" of anything. Compounded by being the 'picked on' kid in elementary and middle school. Just what I needed, on top of the horrors happening in my house.
As a single adult, I partied like it was 1999. After college I made friends who went out all the time, spent summers on their boats on the lake, traveled to the beach, golf tournaments, formal fundraisers, football games, thoroughbred cups, community events, many-splendored happy hours, you name it, as one big group. And, by God, I went to everything possible, no matter whether it was financially difficult or inconvenient, because finally I had some control over not being "left out" of things. I craved being connected, being included. I still do.
You see why adultery hit me so below the belt, don't you? It's the ultimate abandonment, disconnect, being left out. And my husband was the one person I unconditionally trusted, which was a first for me. Regardless of what was going on in our dysfunctional marriage, I never worried about infidelity. Never. He was my rock. I would have laughed in your face had you suggested it to me. I actually did laugh when it was first mentioned to me as a reason he may have said we needed to separate. Ha ha
My early life set me up for this devastation to be the very thing that sent me over the edge. And it damn near did.
But.
There was enough providence in place to pull me back. Not without grave errors on my part, acting out of emotions, and flailing madly for a bit. I have to tell you though, it's so much better to be wide awake than sleepwalking through your life.
I am oddly thankful for the chance to figure this out, wrestle with my God, my beliefs, my past. I'm learning so much.
After all I've been through already? This is going to take me down? Please. He who is in me is greater than he who is in the world. Bring it on.
When I started this blog last year, I had the intent of telling 1) The Story of Me and 2) why I started this introspection: the bomb blast of the adultery. My husband was amazing, I think: in the middle of his own pain and mistrust, he agreed to start sharing his part of our story here - since our perspectives are so different on separate sides of the blast.
We both had gaping wounds, each inflicted by the other. Both. Of. Us. I cannot emphasize this enough. Gaping, bloody ones with jagged edges. The kind of wounds that have to heal from the inside out, and will not knit together in a pretty thin line.
We were trying to process our new-to-us lives the best we knew how, while walking around like those zombies from Michael Jackson's "Thriller" video. We were in counseling together. We talked more, instead of just the necessary running-the-household-and-raising-kids conversations. There was guarded effort toward a better marriage on both our parts. We were not moving very fast, but there was wee snail movement toward a different and better relationship.
We each bemoaned the fact that I'm doing the best I can ... I'm doing all I can do ... Our counselor called bullsh!t on that right quick-like. We were each doing what we were willing to do at that point in time, but we were not doing everything we could have done for each other. Doing so would have involved a leap of faith that would cause extreme discomfort for each of us, considering our FOO and individual baggage.
Relational intimacy was hard for us in the best of times, much less in an aftermath of emotional gore like we were experiencing. Therefore, we wanted better, but could not/would not make the leap to getting it.
It's akin to an analogy I heard about faith in God; I think this was a Frank Peretti anecdote. He spoke about believing in God in the same way you believe in that chair across the room. Yes, that's a chair, it has four legs and a seat. Looks sturdy.
Yes, but will you go SIT in it?
You can lip-service all day, and intellectually drone on about the engineering of the chair and how it is structured to hold you up. But when the rubber hits the road, will you go over there and trust it to hold your weight?
There's the test, I think. And while I failed it for most of my life, I'm seeing how not sitting in the chair, from a place of relative "safety" across the room, is ultimately not in my best interest. Comfortable is not working.
I need to leap. I need to sit in the chair and trust it to hold me up. God is big enough to hold me and my baggage. He won't drop me. I know that intellectually. I do believe it. But I haven't walked over to sit in the chair. I haven't leapt in my faith. Shame on me.
I didn't leap in my marriage relationship, pre- or post-bomb. I waited to see if it was safe. I'll step here, if you'll go first. If you will, I will. Oddly enough, our relationship together started as a testimony to leaps of faith, of love. Probably the first and only time either of us stretched like that, before or since. And doing so rewarded both of us. It's astounding, in retrospect, how love moved us big time. Mightily.
Then it got less and less comfortable to make big steps. Always glancing out of our peripheral vision at each other: what's he/she doing? because if he/she's not making an effort to [whatever], i'm not stepping out by myself. Ugh. It's exhausting to look to someone else to guide your steps (or your non-steps).
Eventually we quit sharing our hearts at all. Married to a relative stranger. Familiar only in the routine of life, but not where it counts. Ya'll know.
Do I need to be looking to another person to guide my steps? No. I need to look away from the other side of the bed and look up. That's where my hope is. I'm just now figuring that out in a real way, not just a yeah, i know that kind of way.
When my husband was actively posting here, and we were routinely discussing our relationship together IRL, it was okay to blog the adultery and stories about him - or at least fairer. And while I hope it isn't always the case, he no longer posts his story/firsthand wisdom here, and we don't discuss Big Picture Issues daily. Because of that, it seems less 'okay' to blog about those things currently. I could be wrong, but we'll go with it for now.
I do want to tell you more about my husband as a person, what made me love him from the get-go. What contributes to why I still can. Just so you don't know him only as 'the adulterer'. Because that's not fair, and not who he is. I've posted a lot about my pain, because, hello, it is very real (see above reference to jagged wounds). But so is his.
I don't intend to go down the rabbit holes of my marriage and adultery specifically as the Main Plot Point to my blog. That's not to say I won't talk about either, or both, in relation to my story, or throw some lyrics into the mix that mean something to me personally. But I have a plethora of my own issues to work through, back stories of crazy-making and poor judgments that contributed to my unique chaos, and eventually helped lead to problems in my marriage. That's what I intended to do initially, and I hope to get back on track. Stay tuned.
Way back before I had children, I was introduced to a kids' book by Max Lucado about creatures called Wemmicks. I only read the entire book one time, about mmmm...8 or 9 years ago?.... but completely remember the concept.
These little Wemmick creatures walked around and put 'stickers' on each other: a red dot for negative, a gold star for positive. So these guys would be walking around with lots of negatives and/or positives, and would be judged by how others saw them.
One Wemmick walked around with no stickers on him. The others were mystified. They would try to put red dots or gold stars on him, but they slid off of him. Wouldn't stick. This one guy did not care about how others saw him, because he knew Who Made Him, and how special he was to his Maker, so nothing 'stuck' to him. That's the nutshell version. I never forgot it.
The same concept works in our lives, with a twist.
The adultery plastered red dots all over me, and I looked down at them and felt completely unworthy as a woman, person, wife, YouNameIt. I felt like one big heartbroken Loser.
But in the midst of it all there were God McNuggets - i.e. gold stars - scattered around. Gifts of hope in the middle of the deepest despair. But they didn't stick, and I needed them to. I focused on the red dots, not the gold stars. And I lashed out of from a place of hurt and loss of control.
Why do we believe the worst about ourselves? Why, when I am thinking about a particular car, that is mainly what I see. For example, the new Toyota FJ Cruiser. I dig this car, and now I see it everywhere because it's what my internal radar tracks. Same with negative self-images. I heard second-hand a few weeks ago "If she does find herself single, she would be an amazing catch" and I immediately pfffft'd that comment. Because, hell, if I was such an amazing catch wouldn't The Husband know it? He's a smart guy. Maybe I am a great catch in the wrong net?
Back in the dark days of the affair, The Husband and she-who-shall-not-be-named had a thing about the moon. Mainly, that they were far apart, but could still see the moon together no matter what. Cue cheesy music, I know, but ouch, man.
So, of course, the day after the "reveal" I've taken the kids to the inlaws to get them away from our personal Ground Zero, and am driving back home at night. The moon is amazing, huge, beautiful - and Dummy Me calls The Husband. He answers and I say "Can you see the moon from where you are?" and he can't even answer me for about ten seconds, because he thinks it's her.
I of course don't know any of that until later email hacking uncovers it. So, of course the moon then turns into something Bigger Than It Is. You know? Another signpost in my life that Reminds Me That SHE Comes First! THEIR Romance! He Loves HER! Even THE MOON is all about her.
And, hello, we live in the mountains: the Moon is always beautifully showcased. "Look at me!" Look at me!" screamed the moon for a few months. (Fcuking moon)
Slowly, that changed.
One night I was driving home, and the moon was pretty and I didn't immediately cringe inside.
Then, another night, I looked up and thought God did not make this moon for those two people alone.
And then, eventually, look, isn't it pretty tonight with no Ick attached to the thought.
It's been a year since the moon mocked me relentlessly. Now it's just a moon again. Things can change. Hope doesn't disappoint.
ag.o.ny (ag'uh-nee): extreme and generally prolonged pain; intense physical or mental suffering.
And that's what happens when I take my eyes off the center line. It's like a bunch of mini panic attacks, but they're quiet and deep inside me, not always visible to anyone else.
Except when they leak out through the cracks in my soul. Like the other night, I had to leave work because I could not function. I could not even get it together enough to be embarrassed by it, the onslaught of continual tears. I simply could not stop. The kind people I work with called in a replacement and sent me home with a hug, dumbfounded by their formerly funloving, enthusiastic co-worker coming undone.
Yes, a byproduct of physical exhaustion as well, but truly, I've been slowly coming undone all of my life, really, and I just cannot fake it well any longer. (could there BE any more commas in that sentence?)
The Husband has left it up to me whether to leave. He has given up the fight, no longer caring enough to chase me down, for those of you that remember how I tested old boyfriends.
I won't leave. I love him. Dammit, I don't know how I feel about that. Part of me is proud that I love him, he's my husband and a wonderful kind thoughtful person. The other part feels like a jackass, because he doesn't love me back and has loved another in the interim. He is here because it's the 'right thing to do' and our children are happy, and he's praying that God will change his heart toward me (made ever so difficult by my fcuking insanity -truly- at the end of the suck job that was 2006), and he's been praying to love me again long before the affair happened. Unbeknownst to me until post-affair.
It begs the question: how much more like sh!t can one possibly feel? It makes me nauseated if I dwell upon these things, and the little Cuisinarts take up residence in my chest, set on grind or puree. I start to crack open, and while some of that is good, and needed, it also is frightening. Because I don't have six months to weep in a rubber room, I still have to function in the world, work at a high-stress job, interact with my children in a healthy way, and figure out how to truly communicate with The Husband with limited interaction time.
For the last year, I have been concerned that if I started to open up my soul, that the wounds exposed would take me out. And, after the River of Tears on Thursday night, it's not an unreasonable concern. I am a weary little soldier.
And yet.
There is still hope in this most hopeless situation. I have no freaking idea why, but there is. It bursts over me, like a break in the clouds, way too infrequently, but unmistakable when it happens. I was in a parking lot yesterday walking toward my car, and BAM! There is was. A long-term vision of hope, in a microsecond of the virtual clouds parting. Hard to explain, but I smiled from the inside out for that moment. And it gave me enough to to hold onto through the next few hours. Manna for the day. Not when I look to The Husband, because my heart just disintegrates when I focus on him. But when I keep my hands on the wheel, on God, and his Word, I have so much crazy peace.
Which is why I know it's hard for me to spend time with Him each day, because the enemy has had me for so long. He is putting on a serious fight to not give me up. My family has been in his clutches for generations, and I am like the little bon-bon he's been waiting to pop in his mouth for dessert. So how DARE I go and find God, and then try to break out of destructive habits. Well, fcuk him. And the horse he rode in on. I will NOT live another year of my life this way. Ultimately, this is not about my marriage (although it does feel that way most days). It's about my life and my legacy to my kids.
I know God said there would be suffering, and He doesn't guarantee happiness. The Husband likes to hang his hat on that lately, but I think God wants our marriages to be a testimony to His glory. Not everyone's is, obviously, but I'm willing to let Him rock the happiness factor. I've been a sh!tty wife at times, he's been a sh!tty husband at times. I'm going to throw my hat in the ring, even if The Husband cannot right now. It's yank up the bootstraps time. One of those I believe! Help my unbelief! kind of times.
So, I'm driving the kids to school the other morning.
The way to school is a through a national park highway (part of it seen in this photo here), and early on some mornings it is very foggy, like smoke soup. It's a winding road, no street lights or signs; just woods, mountains, and occasional deer. This particular morning it's a "fog storm," as my son calls it. Very whitish-gray and almost zero visibility in some areas, but I haven't noticed because I'm used to these occasions and keep my focus on the double-yellow line in the center of the road.
Then from the backseat, my daughter announces, "I can't see a thing!" and I look up and realize, dude. It's pretty scary when you look up at the fog. The road is invisible, has no edges, I can't see jack, I can't even see the space in front of the car. But my focus has been on the center line which guides me just fine until the turnoff exit toward school.
And right in that moment I realized: this morning was a microcosm for my life. I can't see a thing, man, and if I look around I will start to panic that I may drive off a cliff. But if I stay focused on trusting God (my center line), I don't even notice the scary stuff and I can drive well in an otherwise precarious situation.
