Sometimes I wish...

Sometimes I wish that when we fight we'd scream and yell and GET IT OUT! But we try to be calm and collected and rational (which is hard with emotions).  I like to keep my sailor tendencies in check (as in swearing like a...).

I told my husband that I feel like he's being passive with his blog (pot/kettle maybe?)(and actually I didn't flat out tell him, he read it in my journal) despite it being under his real name because he hasn't told anybody about it.  It feels like he's just waiting for someone he knows to stumble across it and say, "Wow that's hard, let me walk with you while you do this." Instead of him saying, "Hey guys, this is hard.  Will you walk with me while I do this?"  Been there.  Done that.  Done waiting.  So there are people in my real life that know about this blog.  And sometimes I get an email saying, "Hey I read your blog...you ok?"  Here's the thing though.  His recovery is HIS recovery, HIS journey.  I CANNOT dictate what it should or should not look like (though I'd love to).  I recognize that.  Which is precisely why I did not tell him and why I wrote it in my journal.

Should I be the Pot or the Kettle?

I really don't know where I'm going with this.

I am exhausted.

Emotionally drained.  It's been a long week.  Talked to my Stake Relief Society President about pornography and my life and it was lovely.  Healing to be heard.  But draining.  My therapy session yesterday was great.  And also draining.  Next week my husband is leaving town for a week and I'm trying to keep it together.  To not totally wig out.  But I kind of am.  Because the last binge of pornography for him was on a business trip.  Followed by a month of lying.  I'm hoping to meet up with him at the end of the week and we'll do a little family vacation.  But man, I am STRESSED.  He's been doing well lately and I'm grateful for that.  But I still get triggered and freak out.

Today has been a lot of BREATHING and listening to beautiful piano music and thinking, praying, journaling and talking with some friends.

Oxygen Masks

(pic found HERE)

I had a good meeting with my therapist the other day.  We talked about the importance of taking care of myself so I can take care of others.  She likened it to an emergency oxygen mask in an airplane.  If you've never been on an airplane perhaps you can get the gist from a movie or two.  Awesome safety briefing that people barely avidly listen to as the plane taxis for takeoff.  If at some point the cabin loses pressure the oxygen masks would drop from the overhead compartment.  You are to place one on yourself and secure it BEFORE administering aid to anyone else- even children.  It goes against our instincts as mothers (I assume) and thus we need to be reminded on every single flight.  Our instinct is to take care of the little ones first.  But, as my therapist, pointed out, if you fail to put yours on first you could black out and thus not be available to help anyone else and hurting MORE people in the end than if you simply take care of yourself first.  

So I have permission, and an assignment, to notice when I take time to get my oxygen.  To take a breather so I can be present and clear for those I love, which includes ME.  

Just one of the many things I've been pondering lately.  

I'm grateful I have full permission not to feel guilty about it anymore.  

(Obviously taken to extreme would be bad- like if I just totally ignored my responsibilities for some "me" time. A little break doesn't hurt and the laundry will wait.  Not until next week, but for 30 minutes.) 

Brene Brown invites us to 

Graphic from HERE

In her book “The Gifts Of Imperfection,” she suggests that the proper way to DIG Deep (when you’re too bone-tired to get up one more time & do ____ ), get:

• Deliberate in your thoughts and behaviors through prayer, meditation, or by simply setting your intentions;
• Inspired to make new and different choices;
• Going. Take action!

Instead of muddling through STOP and take a minute to get your breath, to get your oxygen mask on.  When you've got one more load of laundry or dishes or paperwork or __________ to do and you just can't muster up the Umph to do it, don't "cowboy up" don't "push through".  STOP*  And D.I.G. Deeper to get a breather and be refreshed so you can then go back to what it is that you were meaning to do.  

*I recognize that it is not always prudent or wise to stop what you are doing even if you don't like it sometimes because sometimes things HAVE to be done.  But often we get into this thinking in EVERY aspect of life and forget that we can step back from some things.  

What inspires you?

What refills your soul?

What gives you oxygen?

Huff Puff

I'm really looking forward to meeting with my therapist tomorrow.  (Never thought I'd say that.)  I haven't made as much progress this week as I would have liked but I'm still here.  I'm still trying.  That counts.  I can't weed out all the dandelions in one go.

I'm also looking forward to my Mom's visit for Christmas.  Remember when I was scared?  It's still new and new is often scary.  But the genuine love and concern from my Mom is a life jacket when I'm lost at sea.

I still want to run. I still want to hide.  Wish the pain away instead of leaning into it.  I've tried it.  Doesn't work so well.  I end up crumpled in front of the fireplace waiting for a miracle.

I do see miracles all around me.

I am blessed beyond my capacity to truly comprehend.

And yet.

I yearn for something more.  I know in the 12 step groups one of the biggest things is letting things go.  Letting Go and Letting God.  Recognizing what I can control and what I cannot. I find that it is easy to say and very hard to do.  If I let go what if I get hurt again?

To which I hear Wolf from The 10th Kingdom say, "Well, maybe you won't get hurt. But, huff-puff, you won't get loved either."

It's been a long day.  And I am grateful, SO grateful, for new friends I have found along this way.
Sorry there's not much more to the post.  I don't have much to offer at the moment.
This is my reality.

Still Here

I'm still here.


Which is what I keep telling my husband too. We've had a lot of rough days/nights.  I told him that I have indeed thought about leaving at some point. He asked me after reading some blog posts of other WoPAs who have left or considered leaving.  But that point is not today and not anytime soon unless his behavior says my family/I is/am not safe.  So far so good. Mostly.  He had a slip recently, meaning he gave into addictive behavior but hasn't given up recovery.  It's been a rough week since then.

We have been taking stock of where we are, evaluating progress.  He feels like we are making progress individually but not together as a marriage.  I somewhat agree with that.  I think I have made progress. I can set boundaries and stick to them and feel safe thus feeling empowered in my ability to trust myself.   I have been to a therapist that I have hope can help me in a broader sense.  I think he has made progress.  He is SO much more willing to even look at his emotions and let them out.  It's hard.  He hasn't done it before.  And now he's got a lifetime of emotions to work through.  Some harder than others. He has proven he can do hard things too.  Our marriage relationship is kind of just sitting there waiting for both of us to work some stuff out.

And I'm still here.

I haven't gone anywhere.
I might lock myself in the bedroom sometimes.
But I'm here.
And I'm working.
And I think I'm healing and waiting and loving my dear husband from where I am.  Which is not as close as I'd like. But I don't believe it'll be this way forever.  And that gives me hope.

The great Brene

A friend shared this video by the great Brene Brown (Pronounced Bre-nay).  SO powerful! And I tell you what, I've got some things to work on.  And I love the encouragement I get from this brave warrior.  EMPATHY. Not Sympathy.  Seriously.  I don't even know where to really go with a full response to this video.  But watch it.  20 minutes. Turn it on while folding laundry (which I have slated for the ENTIRE day- I hate getting behind on laundry).


I am afraid of telling people my story. My pain. My life.  Because I am worried they will Sympathize and not Empathize.  That I will be more shamed for my struggles.

But this is me.  My pain.  My struggles.  They are real.  And it is a journey of learning and growing (and many mistakes along the way.)

Where does you lied to me turn into you are a liar?  Our mistakes do not define us.  At least they shouldn't.  Blaming?  Ooooh. I identify with THAT.

So watch it and email me what you think.  Or comment.  Or just enjoy.

Beauty in scars.

Scars are dead tissue.  What caused a scar is usually very painful.  Unsightly lines that disrupt the beautiful.  But in their own way, scars are powerful and beautiful.

Scars tell the story of what we have experienced.

I have a scar on one of my knees (correction I have scars on BOTH my knees but only one is from this experience) from when I was in 7th grade.  I was on the cross country team and for practice we'd run a loop that went by the tennis courts.  I tripped and fell hard.  The scar is still there.  Cross country wasn't easy for me.  I don't actually enjoy running to someone else's command but my friend convinced me to join her.  It wasn't something I had confidence in but I persisted anyway.  I never won any prestigious ribbons.  I came in last, pretty much every race.  But I did it.  I have the scars to prove it.

I have a scar on my chin from sliding in the gutter chin first when I was no older than 7.  I had on fancy dress shoes, I don't know if it was a Sunday or if I was just dressing up.  I was out in the front yard tossing the Koosh ball with my brother and it went into the gutter so I dove for it.  Oops.  Didn't have stitches, just a butterfly bandage.  And now a wrinkly scar on my chin and a memory.

I have a scar on the knuckle of my right thumb from a time I baked my best batch of cookies ever and hit my thumb on the top rack pulling them out. I think they were the perfect batch because I never intended to keep them.  I baked them and mailed them to a friend.

I have a scar on the back of my head somewhere.  I can't see it because my hair hides it.  I fell out of a wagon when I was little.  6 maybe?  I was pretending to drive, steer with the handle while others pushed.  The slope of the driveway made me tip.  I did have to get stitches that time.  My friend's mom took them out for me a few days later. I remember being very scared and brave.

I have a scar on my right shin from running up the bleachers and hitting a bench.  It's numb all the way to the bone still and didn't bleed much.  It was embarrassing but I learned the power of laughter to dispel fear.

Scars are ugly.  And beautiful.  For without any scars what would remind us of our stories?

I hope someday, when this one heals I will be able to tell the story of how this scar showed me that I am stronger than I thought possible, more compassionate than I knew.  I hope to find the beauty in this ugly scar.  I'm beginning to see some of it already.  And that is a wonderful blessing.

Stitches

I received some "love mail" today. You see, my dear Mom sent me a package and I got it today.  In it was this book: STITCHES: A Handbook on Meaning, Hope and Repair by Anne Lamott.  (click the link-I don't know how to link the picture)

Oh. My. Heavens.

SUCH a WONDERFUL book. Seriously.  Buy it.  I read it with an orange colored pencil in hand and highlighted MANY wonderful passages and quotes.  It's 96 pages long and yes, I read it all in the 6 hours I've had it (which if you do the math is on the slow-ish side of reading, but I promise you I took time to feed my family dinner, left over sloppy joes, and bathe the smallest wee one and put him to bed, sent the other brothers with Daddy on a project, I also let my kids watch Netflix this afternoon.)

My all time favorite quote, it has a heart by it in my book, and perhaps fellow sewers will love this as much as I do;

Sewing is the finger and heart equivalent of putting one foot in front of the other.

So many other quotes I want to share but there's a reason this one stands out.  Remember my Correspondence Course in Self Care? (If not click the link) Those strips of fabric were meticulously crafted into the beginnings of my very own quilt top.  See?

This pattern starts with sewing the strips together at angles to create the LONGEST STRIP OF FABRIC KNOWN TO MAN.  Seriously.  Football field length.  Then you fold in half sewing that strip to itself lengthwise.  Which takes FOREVER.  

This is me hard at work. Just when you think you can't sew another stitch, that you MUST be close to the end you look down and see that you're not even halfway.  It's disheartening.  So fifteen minutes later (not kidding and this is after an hour of making the longest strip known to man) you might have that first strip done.  From there on out it's easy peasy.  The rows double in size each time so the length you have to sew is 1/2 as long.  (Doesn't make sense, I know- but it's not a tutorial on how but the lesson learned.) The agony of that first strip is real.  It is hard.  It is exhausting and butt numbing.  And yet you plod on.  With hope that it won't turn out an ugly mess.  And guess what?  You were right all along.  It's wonderful and far different than you had ever imagined.  

And isn't that our journey through life?  Our journey as WoPAs? Trying to figure out how to plod on with this forever long stitch?  Having to unpick and resew when the pattern gets skiwampus? 

This is a metaphor that I will cling to.  For I've always been a pretty fearless sewer.  And now I'll start applying that to the rest of my life.  

One foot in front of the other. 

One stitch and then another.  Some unpicking.  Some re-sewing.  And a beautiful unknown pattern will reveal itself.