I'm having visions of Princess Laya pleading for help from the wise Obi Wan Kenobi as she faces possible destruction of her beloved people. I can relate.
I have put so much trust in our counsellor. Since therapy is the only consistent thing my husband has been doing, I have felt like our counsellor has been our life line. He has responded in times of crises (outside of office hours), he has set his client schedule based on what is most convenient for us, he has come to our home, had us in his home for sessions, spent hours on the phone talking us through disasters, built my confidence in myself and my worth.
He has given me hope.
When my husband has shown almost imperceivable indication of progress or change, our counsellor has given me things to hold on to for survival.
He has been my Obi Wan.
And now he is closing his practice, and we are on our own. When he called me to tell me, it was as though he said, "your husband has been taught and trained in the ways of the Jedi (ie. recovery). The force is within him. It is now up to him to learn to use it...or face destruction."
Great.
I have taken my hope out of my husband's hands a long time ago, and placed it completely in the hands of our therapist. Grateful that he was even willing to go to counseling so frequently, I held on to the hope that maybe one of the upcoming sessions would be THE ONE that made the difference. And since that ship is sailing away in a couple of weeks, I am now wondering where I am to put the remaining fumes of my hope. I'm not giving it back to my husband to take care of. That would just be silly. But I'm not ready to let it disappear.
Without hope I have nothing. I cannot let it dissolve before my eyes.
And so I see that having no other earthly source to put my hope in at this point, I must give it all and completely to God. When other sources cease to make me/him/us whole (borrowed from the beautiful hymn "Where Can I Turn For Peace?"), I can turn to the One who is called the Hope of Israel. I place my hope in the hands that created the universe, and created me and my husband. Hope in the wisdom of an all knowing God whose timing is always perfect (so I've been told). Hope in the God of miracles.
Obi Wan is NOT my only hope!
I love the words of this hymn "Jesus, Savior, Pilot Me"
"Jesus, Savior, pilot me over life's tempestuous sea;
Unknown waves before me roll, hiding rock and treacherous shoal.
Chart and compass came from thee: Jesus, Savior, pilot me,
"As a mother stills her child, Thou canst hush the ocean wild;
Boist'rous waves obey thy will when thou say'st to them, "Be still!"
Wondrous Sov'reign of the sea, Jesus, Savior, pilot me.
"When at last I near the shore, and the fearful breakers roar
'Twixt me and the peaceful rest, then, while leaning on thy breast,
May I hear thee say to me, "Fear not: I will pilot thee."
And I may or may not still wish that Yoda will appear!
Monday, 5 May 2014
Friday, 2 May 2014
I found a new part of CrazyTown
Have you ever lived in the same town for a long time to discover a new area you had never been to? I have lived in my town most of my life and I could drive the streets almost with my eyes closed, but I know there are some places I have never been. I am always amazed when I make these new discoveries.
This happened to me the other night, except the town was CrazyTown. I have (unfortunately) been in and out of CrazyTown many times for many years. But most of the time I go to the same parts of "town". The other night was new to me. I had heard about it from other's experiences. It has a reputation of not being a very great place. I can now add my witness that it is true. I would be happy to never go there again.
It has been a rough few months for me. Some more discoveries, a lot of tears, painful detachment, dwindling hope. Then this week I received an upsetting phone call from our counsellor telling me that our time with him is ending. He also told me he has given my husband all he has to offer over the past several years, and it is now up to husband to decide if he is going to put to use all the tools he's been given. This information hit me really hard. It feels as though we have been in a hot air balloon and have just been told there is no more gas and we have to figure out how to land safely on the remaining fumes. I have felt such despair over this and have been in a very low place for the past few days. All of that is in addition to the painful discovery I found just a couple of weeks ago. I have very little confidence in my husband right now that he will actually do anything with the remaining bit of therapy we have left. He hasn't done much so far (from my perspective...a hot topic with us to say the least). Therapy has felt like my only hope. And it is ending.
The pain is heavier than usual.
Which brings us to the other night...
Feeling very insecure and fearful, I looked up on our gps to see if my husband really was where he said he was going to be (this isn't new to me...it's almost unconscious now how I look it up at times). He almost always is.
That night, he wasn't.
My heart started racing and my mind was ignited. I texted him, "why are you there?" No answer. I sent a few more texts, again with no answer. He almost always answers. Then I phoned. No answer. I was beginning to reel. I was planning on running an errand that evening anyway and was waiting for my kids to finish getting ready for bed. My oldest was going to babysit. When they were ready, I rushed out the door.
The plan was I was just going to run my errand and come back home...possibly bug him with a few more texts. But when I got to the crossroads of go straight for my errand or turn left to go towards where the gps was saying he was, I took a quick look to see if he was still there (and he was), I swerved left.
I have always been a very careful driver. Cautious, rarely speed. I actually had points deducted from my driving test because I was "too cautious". That night...not so much. I felt like I was flying on a rocket, speeding down the highway, checking the gps every 2 minutes to see if he was still there. I had given up control of myself. My mind was flying as fast as my car, thinking about what he might be doing there, with whom, and what I was going to do when I caught him. I even found myself praying out loud "please bless me to catch him in whatever he is doing."
I was getting frantic because I got caught in busy traffic. There is never traffic at 8pm in this part of town, but there was that night. I even found myself considering swerving into on coming traffic to pass the slow people in front of me - I drive a big SUV, but I could picture myself driving over the other cars like I was in a monster truck....Like I said, control/logic GONE.
From flying down the highway, to crawling behind slow evening drivers, to winding through residential areas dangerously fast...I made it to the gps location. With my heart racing and making final plans of what I was going to say when I "caught" him, I pulled over in a place where I could sort of hide the vehicle and watch (sneaky stealth spy!). He was there, with other youth leaders and youth...just like he was supposed to be (except I didn't think they would be there!). I was speechless and deflated. Then they all started coming out to their cars and I had to get out of there fast before being discovered. So I turned around really fast and flew down the street the opposite direction.
Good thing there is more than one way to get home!
And what a drive home that was. I just started crying. I was grateful he wasn't doing anything wrong, but I was so ashamed! What if they had seen me? How would I have explained to the other leaders (and youth!) why I left my kids at home to come and spy on my husband during a youth activity? I spent that drive slamming myself on how ridiculous I was and how I can't believe that I just did that. Where was all my recovery? Where was my strength? Where was my brain? I really can't adequately put into words how I felt about what I had done.
I was drowning in a tsunami of shame. Yet I was so angry that this is even my life...that this is even a possibility that I could have "caught" him doing something terrible. And how I almost made things worse by ME being "caught" out of control spying on him.
This has compounded the funk I've been in. This stinks. Like, make me want to gag, stink.
BUT, I have to learn from this. It is a wasted experience if I don't learn. Sooo...
I have come to realize that the step back I took from recovery work, and blog writing and reading, in what I felt was a needed break because I had become too consumed with it all...it was a bit too much of a break.
I have learned that writing in my blog keeps me more grounded and helps me process. Working my steps keeps me breathing normally (most of the time...we can talk about the step 4 breathing problems I'm having another day!), connecting with others who get it (by reading blogs and reaching out online...since I don't really have anyone in person to connect with) keeps my heart from being completely locked up alone in its cocoon.
I'm sure there are other lessons to be learned from this crazy adventure into the new part of CrazyTown, but the lightbulbs are slow to come on right now. I think I may have used up too much energy powering the rocket I rode on into CrazyTown. Back to step 1 I go.
And once I can get a handle on my shame spiral, I'm sure that I will be able to actually laugh about this experience (and tell my husband about it...one day). Hopefully he will laugh too.
Good grief.
This happened to me the other night, except the town was CrazyTown. I have (unfortunately) been in and out of CrazyTown many times for many years. But most of the time I go to the same parts of "town". The other night was new to me. I had heard about it from other's experiences. It has a reputation of not being a very great place. I can now add my witness that it is true. I would be happy to never go there again.
It has been a rough few months for me. Some more discoveries, a lot of tears, painful detachment, dwindling hope. Then this week I received an upsetting phone call from our counsellor telling me that our time with him is ending. He also told me he has given my husband all he has to offer over the past several years, and it is now up to husband to decide if he is going to put to use all the tools he's been given. This information hit me really hard. It feels as though we have been in a hot air balloon and have just been told there is no more gas and we have to figure out how to land safely on the remaining fumes. I have felt such despair over this and have been in a very low place for the past few days. All of that is in addition to the painful discovery I found just a couple of weeks ago. I have very little confidence in my husband right now that he will actually do anything with the remaining bit of therapy we have left. He hasn't done much so far (from my perspective...a hot topic with us to say the least). Therapy has felt like my only hope. And it is ending.
The pain is heavier than usual.
Which brings us to the other night...
Feeling very insecure and fearful, I looked up on our gps to see if my husband really was where he said he was going to be (this isn't new to me...it's almost unconscious now how I look it up at times). He almost always is.
That night, he wasn't.
My heart started racing and my mind was ignited. I texted him, "why are you there?" No answer. I sent a few more texts, again with no answer. He almost always answers. Then I phoned. No answer. I was beginning to reel. I was planning on running an errand that evening anyway and was waiting for my kids to finish getting ready for bed. My oldest was going to babysit. When they were ready, I rushed out the door.
The plan was I was just going to run my errand and come back home...possibly bug him with a few more texts. But when I got to the crossroads of go straight for my errand or turn left to go towards where the gps was saying he was, I took a quick look to see if he was still there (and he was), I swerved left.
I have always been a very careful driver. Cautious, rarely speed. I actually had points deducted from my driving test because I was "too cautious". That night...not so much. I felt like I was flying on a rocket, speeding down the highway, checking the gps every 2 minutes to see if he was still there. I had given up control of myself. My mind was flying as fast as my car, thinking about what he might be doing there, with whom, and what I was going to do when I caught him. I even found myself praying out loud "please bless me to catch him in whatever he is doing."
I was getting frantic because I got caught in busy traffic. There is never traffic at 8pm in this part of town, but there was that night. I even found myself considering swerving into on coming traffic to pass the slow people in front of me - I drive a big SUV, but I could picture myself driving over the other cars like I was in a monster truck....Like I said, control/logic GONE.
From flying down the highway, to crawling behind slow evening drivers, to winding through residential areas dangerously fast...I made it to the gps location. With my heart racing and making final plans of what I was going to say when I "caught" him, I pulled over in a place where I could sort of hide the vehicle and watch (sneaky stealth spy!). He was there, with other youth leaders and youth...just like he was supposed to be (except I didn't think they would be there!). I was speechless and deflated. Then they all started coming out to their cars and I had to get out of there fast before being discovered. So I turned around really fast and flew down the street the opposite direction.
Good thing there is more than one way to get home!
And what a drive home that was. I just started crying. I was grateful he wasn't doing anything wrong, but I was so ashamed! What if they had seen me? How would I have explained to the other leaders (and youth!) why I left my kids at home to come and spy on my husband during a youth activity? I spent that drive slamming myself on how ridiculous I was and how I can't believe that I just did that. Where was all my recovery? Where was my strength? Where was my brain? I really can't adequately put into words how I felt about what I had done.
I was drowning in a tsunami of shame. Yet I was so angry that this is even my life...that this is even a possibility that I could have "caught" him doing something terrible. And how I almost made things worse by ME being "caught" out of control spying on him.
This has compounded the funk I've been in. This stinks. Like, make me want to gag, stink.
BUT, I have to learn from this. It is a wasted experience if I don't learn. Sooo...
I have come to realize that the step back I took from recovery work, and blog writing and reading, in what I felt was a needed break because I had become too consumed with it all...it was a bit too much of a break.
I have learned that writing in my blog keeps me more grounded and helps me process. Working my steps keeps me breathing normally (most of the time...we can talk about the step 4 breathing problems I'm having another day!), connecting with others who get it (by reading blogs and reaching out online...since I don't really have anyone in person to connect with) keeps my heart from being completely locked up alone in its cocoon.
I'm sure there are other lessons to be learned from this crazy adventure into the new part of CrazyTown, but the lightbulbs are slow to come on right now. I think I may have used up too much energy powering the rocket I rode on into CrazyTown. Back to step 1 I go.
And once I can get a handle on my shame spiral, I'm sure that I will be able to actually laugh about this experience (and tell my husband about it...one day). Hopefully he will laugh too.
Good grief.
Friday, 24 January 2014
truth, confusion and cooking
Well, I have found some truth. My feelings over the past few months that something is not right... my feelings were right. After a very LONG night of discussion, much more disclosure has been brought to light. All these feelings, all these times saying "I just feel that something isn't right", doing my searching and monitoring came up with nothing. But I couldn't shake the feeling.
God is a God of TRUTH. He will bring the truth forward in His time. I received truth last night (and a bit more this morning). I am grateful I worship a God of truth.
Yet there still lingers this confusion about the label of addiction. I have gone back and forth several times (via email) with my counsellor about my husband and whether he believes my husband has an actual addiction. MY TRUTH....I believe he does. No, it is not as severe/deep rooted as others. But there is no question that my husband cannot stop his behavior on his own. Even if it comes up every few months, and is not a driving force of his daily thoughts. When it does come up, he cannot always resist. Sometimes he can. My counsellor claims my husband is dancing on the line of addiction versus chronic behaviors that lead to addiction. My husband feels that the title doesn't really matter right now because it doesn't change the fact that he needs help to overcome WHATEVER THIS IS HE KEEPS DOING.
I am a word person. Proper use of words are important to me. Improper use of words BUG ME. Especially when they change the meaning of something very important. But perhaps that is a hang-up I need to let go of? perhaps I need to focus more on the HOW for recovery and change instead of the definition.
I hate cooking. I detest, loathe, abhor, dislike with a passion cooking. But for some reason my brain is creating a parallel here. If I focus on the WORD, does it really change what needs to be done? I could not tell you the difference between sauté and fry. But does that really matter? If I know that I need to heat up a pan, put the food in, leave it there for a few minutes, flip it and leave it there for a few more minutes (depending on what is being cooked)...the finished product should be fairly similar, no? Maybe some things need to be pushed around the pan a bit, some things need a different amount of time in the pan. But the word used perhaps isn't as important as the steps required to take you to your end goal. I'm sure that a professional chef may completely disagree that it DOES matter the difference between sauté and fry. But for my purposes right now, to get to the goal of a nicely cooked meal (lets not even get into talking about seasoning!) that will not leave you with food poisoning from undercooked meat...or to end the behaviors...perhaps the word doesn't really matter. Get the basics covered and then you can expand into polishing.
Addiction or addictive behaviors...the end goal is to STOP. To HEAL. If my husband (or myself) is willing to really work a 12 step program, receive counselling and dig deep in his/my soul to find healing and to stop the destructive behavior, isn't that what matters? If we are clearly aware that there is a problem that cannot be overcome on our own, and are willing to work to overcome it, isn't that what matters? Then, once the main demon is tamed/destroyed, we can work on polishing the rest of our self.
I think too, part of my struggle with this word is the impact (unexpected) it had on me to no longer feel like I "fit" anywhere. Feeling like a misfit in the world of addiction and certainly not fitting in a "normal" marriage. That is a deeper issue (polishing?) that I need to address. Coming to really believe that I am meant to be clay and molded as the Master Potter would have me, instead of squished into a cookie cutter (really, does ANYONE fit the cookie cutter? I think that may be one of my false beliefs).
And maybe I am completely off base and wrong. BUT, I do know that my God of TRUTH will help me figure this out. In the mean time, we will keep working on cooking that food so we don't get food poisoning, and one day get to enjoy seasoning techniques. (well, except for the fact that my husband is a GREAT cook and very talented with seasoning and various other culinary techniques...but that's beside the point).
God is a God of TRUTH. He will bring the truth forward in His time. I received truth last night (and a bit more this morning). I am grateful I worship a God of truth.
Yet there still lingers this confusion about the label of addiction. I have gone back and forth several times (via email) with my counsellor about my husband and whether he believes my husband has an actual addiction. MY TRUTH....I believe he does. No, it is not as severe/deep rooted as others. But there is no question that my husband cannot stop his behavior on his own. Even if it comes up every few months, and is not a driving force of his daily thoughts. When it does come up, he cannot always resist. Sometimes he can. My counsellor claims my husband is dancing on the line of addiction versus chronic behaviors that lead to addiction. My husband feels that the title doesn't really matter right now because it doesn't change the fact that he needs help to overcome WHATEVER THIS IS HE KEEPS DOING.
I am a word person. Proper use of words are important to me. Improper use of words BUG ME. Especially when they change the meaning of something very important. But perhaps that is a hang-up I need to let go of? perhaps I need to focus more on the HOW for recovery and change instead of the definition.
I hate cooking. I detest, loathe, abhor, dislike with a passion cooking. But for some reason my brain is creating a parallel here. If I focus on the WORD, does it really change what needs to be done? I could not tell you the difference between sauté and fry. But does that really matter? If I know that I need to heat up a pan, put the food in, leave it there for a few minutes, flip it and leave it there for a few more minutes (depending on what is being cooked)...the finished product should be fairly similar, no? Maybe some things need to be pushed around the pan a bit, some things need a different amount of time in the pan. But the word used perhaps isn't as important as the steps required to take you to your end goal. I'm sure that a professional chef may completely disagree that it DOES matter the difference between sauté and fry. But for my purposes right now, to get to the goal of a nicely cooked meal (lets not even get into talking about seasoning!) that will not leave you with food poisoning from undercooked meat...or to end the behaviors...perhaps the word doesn't really matter. Get the basics covered and then you can expand into polishing.
Addiction or addictive behaviors...the end goal is to STOP. To HEAL. If my husband (or myself) is willing to really work a 12 step program, receive counselling and dig deep in his/my soul to find healing and to stop the destructive behavior, isn't that what matters? If we are clearly aware that there is a problem that cannot be overcome on our own, and are willing to work to overcome it, isn't that what matters? Then, once the main demon is tamed/destroyed, we can work on polishing the rest of our self.
I think too, part of my struggle with this word is the impact (unexpected) it had on me to no longer feel like I "fit" anywhere. Feeling like a misfit in the world of addiction and certainly not fitting in a "normal" marriage. That is a deeper issue (polishing?) that I need to address. Coming to really believe that I am meant to be clay and molded as the Master Potter would have me, instead of squished into a cookie cutter (really, does ANYONE fit the cookie cutter? I think that may be one of my false beliefs).
And maybe I am completely off base and wrong. BUT, I do know that my God of TRUTH will help me figure this out. In the mean time, we will keep working on cooking that food so we don't get food poisoning, and one day get to enjoy seasoning techniques. (well, except for the fact that my husband is a GREAT cook and very talented with seasoning and various other culinary techniques...but that's beside the point).
Tuesday, 21 January 2014
Cookie cutters and clay
I have always liked cookie cutters. They are precise, you know what the finished product is going to turn out looking like, they are less messy. They just fit nicely.
I have tried to fit in various shapes of cookie cutters my entire life, but just never really fit any. I was involved in sports, but not an athlete; the arts, but not an artist or star performer; the intellectual/smart kids, but not really fitting there either. One teacher once told me you are either "artsy fartsy" or smart. Hmmm. I was both, I knew it. But to my young mind I was so torn because I just didn't FIT.
I tried being friends with "popular" kids, but only a bit because those kids at my school were doing things that did not sit right with my soul. I tried, experimented, made some friends, and then moved on. Never really finding my place. I had friends in different groups and felt torn trying to understand which group I fit in the best.
Even in my family I never felt like I really fit. I was loved, yes. But I was different, sort of. Even being "different" didn't totally fit because there were so many similarities.
When I began looking into religion, I thought I was looking for a church that fit MY beliefs, but really, deep down, I was trying to find a cookie cutter I fit or that fit me...I just wanted to fit. Then I learned about the Gospel of Jesus Christ, according to the teachings of the LDS church. It fit my heart more than I had imagined I would find. It even had a choir I could join (which was one of the things on my list I was looking for in a church)!
I felt that I didn't really fit when I was baptized (or afterwards) because of my life experiences. How could a person like me fit the cookie cutter mold of a Mormon? I was different from most of the other people my age because I was a convert, had experienced much that they never would have to face, I didn't have pioneer heritage or traditions of much that fit with the Gospel. I didn't have an eternal family. But I worked HARD to try and make myself fit. Sadly, that isolated me even more because in my efforts to fit what I thought was the cookie cutter, I became a sort of zealot. I was intense. The harder I tried to make myself fit the mold of a "good latter-day saint", the more alone I began to feel. For awhile I felt I just didn't fit in the Church at all. But Christ was in my heart and I had to find a way. Try harder, do it a bit different, look at how other people are living and try and be like them. Anything (almost) to FIT.
I married a returned missionary in the temple...isolating myself from my family, but determined that THIS was how I was going to finally have my cookie cutter life. It was a struggle from early on. I just didn't understand it. I tried to do all the things that we were taught we should do for the ideal family, but it just wasn't turning out like the cookie cutter. Lots of trials and struggles for many, many years. Our family just didn't fit the mold. Our counsellor even said to us one time, "the church teaches about the ideal, and you just do not fit the ideal mold." He was trying to be helpful to encourage me to look at other options that might make our life a bit more doable for me and my husband, but it was just another way that I didn't fit. I just wanted to FIT gosh-darnit!
And then D-day #1 happened. Any hope that I had been clinging to of progressing to a place where I fit was gone. My world had collapsed and I had no idea which way was up. We tried to rebuild, tried to overcome, tried to get back to "fitting" as best we could, but that cycle just always brought more problems (and more d-days). I did not fit the ideal LDS marriage/family, and I never would.
But then I discovered the world of WoPA's. I studied and read and learned and tried to morph myself and come to terms with my "new" identity as a WoPA. I joined forums and other groups, I read blogs and started my own, I began working 12 steps for betrayal trauma and recovery for loved ones of addicts. I learned a lot and felt like I may have found a place that I fit. Not the shape of a cookie cutter that I ever wanted to fit into, but part of my heart was happy to finally feel like I fit SOMEWHERE.
And then last week that all got flipped on it's head again. After over a year of counselling, we were told that our therapist does not believe my husband is an actual "addict". He is bordering on the line of addiction, had addictive tendencies and an addictive personality, but he is not to the point where he can be diagnosed as a sex addict or money addict or any specific "addict". He's close, as our therapist said, but doesn't quite fit the definition. My identitiy that I had come to accept (as a WoPA or WoA -wife of an addict) dissolved right in front of me. I no longer felt like I fit in the places that had become safe to me...the forums, blogs, support groups. Gone. Poof. Sure, I have faced betrayal and have experienced betrayal trauma. That is true. But I apparently am not a true WoPA. I am a WoAA...wife of an ALMOST ADDICT. I almost fit, but not quite. And that has been a hard blow. Reading the blogs and forum posts is just different now. It feels like another loss.
How is it that I am grieving losing my identity of being a WoPA? Really, that just sounds crazy to me, but it actually hurts. A lot. Because I want to fit. I want to feel like I'm not different AGAIN.
Additionally, with my "miracle" I received last week, that opened my eyes about my own destructive patterns and behaviors, I still don't "fit". I don't know if I have an actual addiction. I have researched this and while I fit SOME of the "qualifiers" of addiction, I don't fit all. It's like I just don't have enough dough to fit into all the corners of the addiction cookie cutter...as a wife or as an individual.
That should be a good thing, right? But it doesn't feel good. It hurts the part of me that just desperately wants to fit.
As I have pondered more on this, I am starting to gain a different perspective. Or perhaps, God is helping me to see it differently. Maybe God doesn't want me to be a cookie cutter? Maybe He wants me to fit HIS mold. But His mold for me isn't the same shape as anyone else. And I'm thinking He isn't wanting me to be the same as anyone else. He is a potter that molds the clay how He wants.
"But now, O Lord, thou art our father; we are the clay, and thou our potter; and we all are the work of thy hand." Isaiah 64:8
I think God sometimes lets us try and help Him shape us. He wants us to be involved in bettering ourselves, actively engaged. But sometimes (and occasionally more than sometimes) we make a mess of the clay. And that is where the Master Potter steps in (if we let Him) to FIX us, instead of trying to FIT us into a certain mold. To smooth out the bumps, fill in the cracks, reshape the warped and wonky, to guide our hands as we try again (and again and again).
http://www.lds.org/general-conference/1982/04/beginning-again?lang=eng
"Arise, and go down to the potter's house, and there I will cause thee to hear my words.
Then I went down to the potter's house, and, behold, he wrought a work on the wheels.
And the vessel that he made of clay was marred in the hand of the potter: so he made it again another vessel, as seemed good to the potter to make it.
Then the word of the Lord came again to me, saying,
O house of Israel, (O Steel Cocoon), cannot I do with you as this potter?...Behold as the clay is in the potter's hand, so are ye in mine hand." Jeremiah 18:2-6
I think it is time I stop trying to fit a defined mold and embrace the vessel the Master Potter is shaping me to become. And if that doesn't fit in a certain group or category, that is ok. It does not take away the validity of what I am living. Jesus didn't fit the cookie cutter either.
I have tried to fit in various shapes of cookie cutters my entire life, but just never really fit any. I was involved in sports, but not an athlete; the arts, but not an artist or star performer; the intellectual/smart kids, but not really fitting there either. One teacher once told me you are either "artsy fartsy" or smart. Hmmm. I was both, I knew it. But to my young mind I was so torn because I just didn't FIT.
I tried being friends with "popular" kids, but only a bit because those kids at my school were doing things that did not sit right with my soul. I tried, experimented, made some friends, and then moved on. Never really finding my place. I had friends in different groups and felt torn trying to understand which group I fit in the best.
Even in my family I never felt like I really fit. I was loved, yes. But I was different, sort of. Even being "different" didn't totally fit because there were so many similarities.
When I began looking into religion, I thought I was looking for a church that fit MY beliefs, but really, deep down, I was trying to find a cookie cutter I fit or that fit me...I just wanted to fit. Then I learned about the Gospel of Jesus Christ, according to the teachings of the LDS church. It fit my heart more than I had imagined I would find. It even had a choir I could join (which was one of the things on my list I was looking for in a church)!
I felt that I didn't really fit when I was baptized (or afterwards) because of my life experiences. How could a person like me fit the cookie cutter mold of a Mormon? I was different from most of the other people my age because I was a convert, had experienced much that they never would have to face, I didn't have pioneer heritage or traditions of much that fit with the Gospel. I didn't have an eternal family. But I worked HARD to try and make myself fit. Sadly, that isolated me even more because in my efforts to fit what I thought was the cookie cutter, I became a sort of zealot. I was intense. The harder I tried to make myself fit the mold of a "good latter-day saint", the more alone I began to feel. For awhile I felt I just didn't fit in the Church at all. But Christ was in my heart and I had to find a way. Try harder, do it a bit different, look at how other people are living and try and be like them. Anything (almost) to FIT.
I married a returned missionary in the temple...isolating myself from my family, but determined that THIS was how I was going to finally have my cookie cutter life. It was a struggle from early on. I just didn't understand it. I tried to do all the things that we were taught we should do for the ideal family, but it just wasn't turning out like the cookie cutter. Lots of trials and struggles for many, many years. Our family just didn't fit the mold. Our counsellor even said to us one time, "the church teaches about the ideal, and you just do not fit the ideal mold." He was trying to be helpful to encourage me to look at other options that might make our life a bit more doable for me and my husband, but it was just another way that I didn't fit. I just wanted to FIT gosh-darnit!
And then D-day #1 happened. Any hope that I had been clinging to of progressing to a place where I fit was gone. My world had collapsed and I had no idea which way was up. We tried to rebuild, tried to overcome, tried to get back to "fitting" as best we could, but that cycle just always brought more problems (and more d-days). I did not fit the ideal LDS marriage/family, and I never would.
But then I discovered the world of WoPA's. I studied and read and learned and tried to morph myself and come to terms with my "new" identity as a WoPA. I joined forums and other groups, I read blogs and started my own, I began working 12 steps for betrayal trauma and recovery for loved ones of addicts. I learned a lot and felt like I may have found a place that I fit. Not the shape of a cookie cutter that I ever wanted to fit into, but part of my heart was happy to finally feel like I fit SOMEWHERE.
And then last week that all got flipped on it's head again. After over a year of counselling, we were told that our therapist does not believe my husband is an actual "addict". He is bordering on the line of addiction, had addictive tendencies and an addictive personality, but he is not to the point where he can be diagnosed as a sex addict or money addict or any specific "addict". He's close, as our therapist said, but doesn't quite fit the definition. My identitiy that I had come to accept (as a WoPA or WoA -wife of an addict) dissolved right in front of me. I no longer felt like I fit in the places that had become safe to me...the forums, blogs, support groups. Gone. Poof. Sure, I have faced betrayal and have experienced betrayal trauma. That is true. But I apparently am not a true WoPA. I am a WoAA...wife of an ALMOST ADDICT. I almost fit, but not quite. And that has been a hard blow. Reading the blogs and forum posts is just different now. It feels like another loss.
How is it that I am grieving losing my identity of being a WoPA? Really, that just sounds crazy to me, but it actually hurts. A lot. Because I want to fit. I want to feel like I'm not different AGAIN.
Additionally, with my "miracle" I received last week, that opened my eyes about my own destructive patterns and behaviors, I still don't "fit". I don't know if I have an actual addiction. I have researched this and while I fit SOME of the "qualifiers" of addiction, I don't fit all. It's like I just don't have enough dough to fit into all the corners of the addiction cookie cutter...as a wife or as an individual.
That should be a good thing, right? But it doesn't feel good. It hurts the part of me that just desperately wants to fit.
As I have pondered more on this, I am starting to gain a different perspective. Or perhaps, God is helping me to see it differently. Maybe God doesn't want me to be a cookie cutter? Maybe He wants me to fit HIS mold. But His mold for me isn't the same shape as anyone else. And I'm thinking He isn't wanting me to be the same as anyone else. He is a potter that molds the clay how He wants.
"But now, O Lord, thou art our father; we are the clay, and thou our potter; and we all are the work of thy hand." Isaiah 64:8
I think God sometimes lets us try and help Him shape us. He wants us to be involved in bettering ourselves, actively engaged. But sometimes (and occasionally more than sometimes) we make a mess of the clay. And that is where the Master Potter steps in (if we let Him) to FIX us, instead of trying to FIT us into a certain mold. To smooth out the bumps, fill in the cracks, reshape the warped and wonky, to guide our hands as we try again (and again and again).
http://www.lds.org/general-conference/1982/04/beginning-again?lang=eng
"Arise, and go down to the potter's house, and there I will cause thee to hear my words.
Then I went down to the potter's house, and, behold, he wrought a work on the wheels.
And the vessel that he made of clay was marred in the hand of the potter: so he made it again another vessel, as seemed good to the potter to make it.
Then the word of the Lord came again to me, saying,
O house of Israel, (O Steel Cocoon), cannot I do with you as this potter?...Behold as the clay is in the potter's hand, so are ye in mine hand." Jeremiah 18:2-6
I think it is time I stop trying to fit a defined mold and embrace the vessel the Master Potter is shaping me to become. And if that doesn't fit in a certain group or category, that is ok. It does not take away the validity of what I am living. Jesus didn't fit the cookie cutter either.
Tuesday, 14 January 2014
Requested and unexpected miracle
So the past week and a half I have been praying fervently for a miracle to occur in my family. You know the kind...that my husband will have a real and lasting change of heart and will REALLY choose to pursue recovery - and find success. I had even told my husband that I was praying for a miracle (and strongly encouraged him to do the same) as we prepare for our next counselling session in a few days. My "recommendation" to my husband was quite strongly worded and did not go over too well. We both had withdrawn and our home felt like it was a part of the major deep freeze that has been happening in parts of North America (not where we live though).
On Sunday I fasted. Fasting is REALLY hard for me. I usually end up nauseous and with a headache, sometimes dizzy, physical pain and pretty grouchy. This time it was different. I hardly felt hungry at all and really didn't struggle with it. This was HUGE for me. An indication to me that God recognized the sacrifice I was making to fast and that He was aware of me and my needs. That increased my faith that I may actually receive the miracle I was seeking.
I know miracles happen. I have seen MAJOR miracles happen to people I know. I wanted it to be my turn.
I fasted for specific revelation to know how to move forward with my marriage (or not), for a major change to take place with my husband that I will be able to see. I also threw in at the end of my day, "and bless me to be able to recognize what Thou would have me change/improve about myself". I was thinking letting go of the trauma, control, self care, getting my life in order....you know... personal growth kind of general stuff.
I felt nothing. I received NO revelation. Not even a hint of inspiration. Crickets. AND, my husband was still withdrawn and still didn't apologize for some of the very hurtful things he had done that week...even though I DID!
Sheesh! WHAT'S THE DEAL???
Monday came around and we had a long talk that just went around and around in circles. Not much changed. My frustrations were growing and I felt so discouraged.
And then my miracle came, completely disguised as a swift kick to my gut.
Monday night God opened my eyes. And it HURT. Something happened and as I went out that evening to run some errands and think about my life, God showed me that I have an addiction too.
GASP!!!
It is different...different theme, different ways of "acting out". But it is the same. Addiction is addiction. I actually am not sure if it is a specifically defined "addiction", but being a destructive behavior pattern that causes harm to myself and my loved ones, that has continued on even though I have taken steps previously to try and stop it...sounds pretty fitting to me. I am not stuck on the label. Addiction is the word I am familiar with and for now, that is how I will look at what I am facing.
I knew before that this was something that isn't good. But it wasn't so clear to me as it was on Monday that this goes beyond a character weakness and will continue to progress unless I do something about it now. As I pondered on it I saw this pattern: Sometimes I can see myself heading down that road and can stop. Other times I see myself going there and don't stop or CAN'T stop. And still other times I find myself in the THICK of it and wonder "how the HECK did I get here?" and either get control of myself or let it snowball.
Now I'm not really surprised that I have an addiction. Being raised with addiction all around me, and then (unknowingly) marrying someone who would become an addict (yes, it came after we were married...but the core issues are lifelong), it is sort of to be expected that there is some sort of addictive issue with me as well. I have believed for a long time that if I were to begin drinking, it would lead me down the same tragic path as my precious Mama. I have been proud to tell myself I couldn't hurt my kids like that and thus I loathe alcohol with a passion. (Insert a nice self-righteous pat on the back here).
But the truth, the PAINFUL truth, is that my addiction is JUST as destructive to the well being of my family (and self and marriage) as my husband's or my parents.
This is really hard to swallow. For so long I have focused on the pain my husband (and parents) have caused me, of the rotten things done to me. And I have ignored, minimized, rationalized or justified my own behavior and the damage it is doing. To be clear...my husband and parents are not off the hook...they HAVE caused a lot of pain and harm and my husband still has a lot of work to do for his addictions. But God has shown me it is time for me to take responsibility for my actions and change. As I woke up this morning I found myself back to minimizing and rationalizing away all that I had felt last night (Monday). All of those things that "addicts" tell themselves..."it's not THAT bad", "don't tell anyone", "you can just overcome this on your own", "it could be WAY worse"...and on and on and on. But I cannot listen to that. I know enough about addiction and recovery now (thanks hubby and parents!) to know those are huge red flags. And so somehow I am able to let go of those thoughts and remember what God showed me last night and remember what I have learned along this journey of learning about addiction.
OUCH.
This is my miracle. This is NOT what I prayed for (or at least not what I MEANT to pray for). This is not what I WANTED. I don't feel good about this...yet. I have faith that with time and work I will come to be grateful for this miracle. I can see that it is a blessing (or will be). But right now, it hurts. A LOT. There is shame and pain and guilt and self hatred and .....a lot of tears. Sorrow. But underneath (or maybe above?) all of that is the very quiet voice that is whispering "you CAN do this. It will be ok. There is healing available for ALL."
Right now I feel a very strange sort of compassion for my husband (and parents). A better understanding. Still much pain from their choices. And I still need healing for that. But there is this new dynamic that still has my head spinning a bit. Just as I believe the Savior can heal my husband, so can He heal me...from my trauma and my addiction.
God is good, even if He makes us exclaim OUCH! sometimes.
On Sunday I fasted. Fasting is REALLY hard for me. I usually end up nauseous and with a headache, sometimes dizzy, physical pain and pretty grouchy. This time it was different. I hardly felt hungry at all and really didn't struggle with it. This was HUGE for me. An indication to me that God recognized the sacrifice I was making to fast and that He was aware of me and my needs. That increased my faith that I may actually receive the miracle I was seeking.
I know miracles happen. I have seen MAJOR miracles happen to people I know. I wanted it to be my turn.
I fasted for specific revelation to know how to move forward with my marriage (or not), for a major change to take place with my husband that I will be able to see. I also threw in at the end of my day, "and bless me to be able to recognize what Thou would have me change/improve about myself". I was thinking letting go of the trauma, control, self care, getting my life in order....you know... personal growth kind of general stuff.
I felt nothing. I received NO revelation. Not even a hint of inspiration. Crickets. AND, my husband was still withdrawn and still didn't apologize for some of the very hurtful things he had done that week...even though I DID!
Sheesh! WHAT'S THE DEAL???
Monday came around and we had a long talk that just went around and around in circles. Not much changed. My frustrations were growing and I felt so discouraged.
And then my miracle came, completely disguised as a swift kick to my gut.
Monday night God opened my eyes. And it HURT. Something happened and as I went out that evening to run some errands and think about my life, God showed me that I have an addiction too.
GASP!!!
It is different...different theme, different ways of "acting out". But it is the same. Addiction is addiction. I actually am not sure if it is a specifically defined "addiction", but being a destructive behavior pattern that causes harm to myself and my loved ones, that has continued on even though I have taken steps previously to try and stop it...sounds pretty fitting to me. I am not stuck on the label. Addiction is the word I am familiar with and for now, that is how I will look at what I am facing.
I knew before that this was something that isn't good. But it wasn't so clear to me as it was on Monday that this goes beyond a character weakness and will continue to progress unless I do something about it now. As I pondered on it I saw this pattern: Sometimes I can see myself heading down that road and can stop. Other times I see myself going there and don't stop or CAN'T stop. And still other times I find myself in the THICK of it and wonder "how the HECK did I get here?" and either get control of myself or let it snowball.
Now I'm not really surprised that I have an addiction. Being raised with addiction all around me, and then (unknowingly) marrying someone who would become an addict (yes, it came after we were married...but the core issues are lifelong), it is sort of to be expected that there is some sort of addictive issue with me as well. I have believed for a long time that if I were to begin drinking, it would lead me down the same tragic path as my precious Mama. I have been proud to tell myself I couldn't hurt my kids like that and thus I loathe alcohol with a passion. (Insert a nice self-righteous pat on the back here).
But the truth, the PAINFUL truth, is that my addiction is JUST as destructive to the well being of my family (and self and marriage) as my husband's or my parents.
This is really hard to swallow. For so long I have focused on the pain my husband (and parents) have caused me, of the rotten things done to me. And I have ignored, minimized, rationalized or justified my own behavior and the damage it is doing. To be clear...my husband and parents are not off the hook...they HAVE caused a lot of pain and harm and my husband still has a lot of work to do for his addictions. But God has shown me it is time for me to take responsibility for my actions and change. As I woke up this morning I found myself back to minimizing and rationalizing away all that I had felt last night (Monday). All of those things that "addicts" tell themselves..."it's not THAT bad", "don't tell anyone", "you can just overcome this on your own", "it could be WAY worse"...and on and on and on. But I cannot listen to that. I know enough about addiction and recovery now (thanks hubby and parents!) to know those are huge red flags. And so somehow I am able to let go of those thoughts and remember what God showed me last night and remember what I have learned along this journey of learning about addiction.
OUCH.
This is my miracle. This is NOT what I prayed for (or at least not what I MEANT to pray for). This is not what I WANTED. I don't feel good about this...yet. I have faith that with time and work I will come to be grateful for this miracle. I can see that it is a blessing (or will be). But right now, it hurts. A LOT. There is shame and pain and guilt and self hatred and .....a lot of tears. Sorrow. But underneath (or maybe above?) all of that is the very quiet voice that is whispering "you CAN do this. It will be ok. There is healing available for ALL."
Right now I feel a very strange sort of compassion for my husband (and parents). A better understanding. Still much pain from their choices. And I still need healing for that. But there is this new dynamic that still has my head spinning a bit. Just as I believe the Savior can heal my husband, so can He heal me...from my trauma and my addiction.
God is good, even if He makes us exclaim OUCH! sometimes.
Saturday, 4 January 2014
Darkness painted with words
Darkness abounds.
It is winning today.
Screaming and fighting children.
A house in shambles.
An empty fridge.
A dwindling pantry.
Financial prison, with a very small hope of parole or pardon.
Job lay-off.
Future employment prospects low.
Dreams shattered.
Recovery progress slower than the slowest snail.
More non-disclosures discovered.
The pain of detachment.
The loneliness of living with secret pain.
Anger rages inside like a storm.
Sadness thicker than the earth's crust.
A mind frantically searching for answers.
A soul yearning to feel God's love and direction.
Silence amid deafening sounds.
Exhaustion that prevents sleep.
Hiding in bed.
Unable to cry anymore.
Stuck.
It is winning today.
Screaming and fighting children.
A house in shambles.
An empty fridge.
A dwindling pantry.
Financial prison, with a very small hope of parole or pardon.
Job lay-off.
Future employment prospects low.
Dreams shattered.
Recovery progress slower than the slowest snail.
More non-disclosures discovered.
The pain of detachment.
The loneliness of living with secret pain.
Anger rages inside like a storm.
Sadness thicker than the earth's crust.
A mind frantically searching for answers.
A soul yearning to feel God's love and direction.
Silence amid deafening sounds.
Exhaustion that prevents sleep.
Hiding in bed.
Unable to cry anymore.
Stuck.
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