Awesome Song!

I think this is how I feel on any given day. Ingrid Michaelson seems to really cut to what is real in this song.

On the Next Jerry Springer...

On the whole, life is going pretty well. I only post when I'm struggling. On the 13th of this month my husband celebrated two years of sobriety! As for me, myself and another woman began an S-Anon meeting in our area. All good stuff.

Tuesday and Wednesday were not so good, though.

My uncle died on Friday, he's actually my father's uncle so I guess he would be my great-uncle. Always a nice man, very good to me, a bit of a drinker, like many of my relatives. At the wake on Tuesday night, I saw all three of his children, my cousins, or second cousins. I offered condolences to my female cousin, R. We spoke of our memories of sleepovers, and going to the fair and to the pool. A while later her brother, J., came over to speak with us. I went to hug him and his hand went directly onto my butt!

Over the course of the night I rationalized the whole incident, saying, "It may have been an accident," "He just lost his dad, and he's probably stressed out and not thinking clearly," "I'm making too much of this." But it really bothered me. The same thing happened with an uncle of mine a couple of years ago. My father's brother. Grabbed my backside at the Christmas party.

After the funeral on Wednesday, there was a gathering at the Elks Club where he was a member. During the meal, my husband took the last lonely roll that was sitting in the basket on the table. My father said, "I'm glad someone took that roll. It looked sad sitting there all alone. I was going to take it if you didn't." So P. offered my father half. Before my father could refuse, my mother jumped in and said, "Are you kidding? It will look better on you than it will on him!" From that point on, I checked out mentally. My husband said he knew I was checking out, and he watched my go. He said he could see it on my face.

Yesterday, I was in my parent's area, dropping off a letter to the SA fellowship announcing our meeting, so I dropped by. I told my parents what had happened with J. at the wake. My mother's reaction was disgust. My father's reaction surprised me. He said, "Maybe you just have a cute butt?!" DAD!!! I remain grossed out today.

I brought it up in group yesterday. The counselor, K., asked why I didn't feel like I could confront him with his inappropriate behavior. Good question! I told her that I thought it was because I am afraid. I'm afraid first of all of being wrong, and wrongly accusing someone of something really bad. I'm also afraid of being wrong, and then the embarrassment that follows for *me*, like, "Are you joking? Why would anyone want to grab *your* butt?" And lastly, I think I'm afraid of being wrong, and causing a major rift in the family, and being *the* reason why our family doesn't see each other anymore.

So although I am growing in some ways, in other ways I'm still a major pansy.

More *Feelings*

I guess I should just *share* my feelings today, and save myself the extra two pounds on the scale, stuffing them with food.

Last night my husband took his polygraph. It marks two years sobriety from porn and all other acting out behaviors. I'm really excited for him, and at the same time, a little anxious to get the results. I know that these tests produce a lot of anxiety for him as well, so I made plans for us to go out to the movies to relax and prematurely celebrate.

The movie we saw was Marley and Me. What can I say, I'm a sucker for a yellow lab. We used to have one, until he passed about four years ago. His name was Murphy and, true to form, he was much like the dog in the movie. I remember chasing him, along with some of my neighbors, down my street, waving Kraft cheese singles or whatever other tidbit I thought might entice him to come home on any given day. He would tear down the street away from us, with this look like, "Who are these people and why do they keep calling me Murphy?" We laughed a lot during the movie, remembering him and his crazy antics.

On to the not so happy feelings that are definitely chocolate worthy (at least in *my* mind they are). >>Spoiler alert << When Jen loses the first baby, my husband got very emotional when she got home and started crying. I just sat there in the theater thinking, "Are you serious? I lost four pregnancies in the same way and you didn't cry once for us."

The primitive part of me wanted to exert some revenge on Jennifer Aniston. And my husband. As if it were her fault that my husband couldn't show emotion back then. And as if my husband was just upset for her because she was pretty. But then the rational, recovery part of me cut him slack, knowing that he isn't the same person he was back then. He used to stuff and medicate his feelings, the same way I did.

It makes me wonder if I come preprogrammed with these negative, hateful messages toward myself, because routinely the *first* type of thing that comes into my mind is "It's all because I'm not pretty, thin, funny, etc. enough." Why doesn't the recovery thought come *first* in my mind? Why is there always this internal battle between my subconscious and conscious mind? And when? When will my recovery brain take over and beat the initial reactive thought into submission? The whole process seems to move at a glacier's pace sometimes (sigh). It's like watching paint dry.

Sorry to be such a downer. I'm just wishing I could control my own thoughts about myself.

Arguing

After coming home from work on Sunday night, h and I had a "discussion." We hadn't seen each other for 24 hours, so we were just hanging out in the living room, trying to reconnect, talking about what happened in our individual lives over the time that I was away.

Sometime during the conversation, he got quiet and got a strange look on his face and then shuddered a little. I said, "You okay?" He said, "Yeah. I was just thinking about something." "Anything you want to share?" I said. So he hesitated and then said, "Well, I was just reading this article in the latest Psychology Today about taboos that are normal. I don't know how they get away with calling all of that fluff 'psychology.' It was a really lame piece."

Okay, not for nothing, but this month's Psychology Today has a photo of this chick in a leather outfit, complete with whip, on the cover. The title on the cover is "Twisted? 7 taboos that are perfectly natural." It went on to list sexual fantasy as one of the normal taboos. It was on the floor on the passenger's side of my van with some other mail that I forgot to bring in on Friday (I have a long driveway and usually get the mail when I'm going out somewhere...lazy me).

Anyway, here's me acting out:

Me: So what possessed you to bring that magazine inside?

Him: I was cleaning out the van before going to the recycling center and I brought in a bunch of papers. That was in there, along with the mail.

Me: So why would you have read 'that' article?

Him: Well, I can't exactly research this SA stuff on the internet because so much porn comes up. I was just curious if I was normal.

Me: So sexual fantasy is now 'normal' and okay for you?

Him: No, I'm not saying that. I just want to see if I am a complete whack job.

Me: Well, to me it seems like you are trying to justify fantasy. The title of the article is "7 Taboos that are Perfectly Normal." It seems like you were trying to find support for the 'fantasy is okay theory.'

Him: No. I just want to see if I'm normal.

Me: So if you are trying to see if you are normal and you want something to read on the subject of SA, why don't you pick up something by Carnes or Weiss, someone who is respected on this subject?

Him: I've already read Out of the Shadows.

Me: How long ago?

Him: Well it has been a long time.

Me: So you are saying, the chick with the whip had nothing to do with your decision to read that particular article?

Him: I would have read it anyway.

Me: Whatever.


Yesterday we went out to dinner to talk about it some more because we couldn't really talk without a certain five year old showing her sweet, smiling face. His idea, we took the discussion to a restaurant. Surprise, surprise, he didn't feel comfortable talking in public. So he didn't speak to me at all during the entire meal. I was mad. We paid the bill and walked out. Outside, there were three young women dining at a small table. P. was racing me to the car to open the door for me. I wouldn't allow it. He got in the car and blew up. "You don't have to humiliate me by not letting me open the door." I replied, "You wouldn't even speak to me for the entire meal. Now you want to be chivalrous in front of this table of women. Too bad. Who are you really opening the door for? Me or them?"

Yeah, the past couple of days have not been shining examples of recovery for either one of us. Thank God we have counseling tonight. I worry about this too. Last time we had an argument with the counselor mediating, he walked out on the conversation. This ought to be interesting.

Moving Right Along...

So here is what happened in group...

I completed Step Eight and am working on Step Nine! I never imagined that I would be able to start, much less complete, Step Eight. I had so much resentment festering toward so many of the people on my list. Especially my family of origin. Most especially my sister and mother. But, today, I'm choosing to release it all to God. In my heart, I believe that releasing it to Him, coupled with developing good solid boundaries will benefit me greatly in my healing.

I'm convinced that God was intervening in my life that day. I had just finished writing the percentages that I was ready to make amends to each individual, when I started working in the bedroom, cleaning and vacuuming. I lifted up the bedskirt to suck up some dustbunnies and rescue a few stray socks from the jaws of the Windtunnel, when I noticed some books that had been piled neatly under there. I pulled them out and saw that some were recovery material of my husband's. I tried to shove them back under there but there was something preventing me from doing so. It was a small, 42 page pamphlet sized book by John Eldredge. I think it was called, "You Have What it Takes." I am fairly certain it was highlighting some of the main points in Wild At Heart.

I started reading it (anything to avoid housework) and there was this one section that really spoke to me. It was about grieving the wounds from childhood. When I first read it, I thought, "Yeah, yeah, been there, done that." But one of the things that he said that stood out to me was, "It mattered." All of those abuses and neglects, they mattered. They mattered to me, and to God who loves me.

Wow! I forgot that God saw all of that stuff too. It mattered to Him. And it was strange to me, because my mantra used to be, "It's fine. It doesn't matter." It was how I would reassure myself that things would be alright, and that things weren't as bad as they seemed at the time. But that statement, "It mattered," gave me a different perspective. I didn't throw myself a pity party that day, but I cried for about five minutes, and just thanked God for that validation, for seeing what had happened and knowing that He cared about it. Because I think when I was telling myself, "It doesn't matter," what I was really feeling was, "I don't matter."

Bringing me back to my Step Four list. Weiss has you make a list of whatever you can remember from all of your years on Earth. Across the top of the page go the headings "Good, Bad, and Ugly." The good list are, obviously, the good things that happened to you or that you did. The bad things are the bad things that you did, that you are responsible for. The ugly things are the bad things that happened to you that you are not responsible for, wounds inflicted by someone else.

So, I looked down all three of the lists, and I FINALLY realized something. All of these things on my ugly list are things that made me feel sad, used, abused, ugly, _______(fill in any negative emotion here). The things on my bad list, that I am responsible for, are on someone else's ugly list, and maybe they are feeling all of those negative emotions that I felt, and I caused them that pain!

Actually, when I looked at it through that lens, I couldn't wait to go out and make amends. Maybe that sounds sugar-coated, but it was really how I felt. It reminded me of the verse in Matthew 5, 23 "Therefore if you are presenting your offering at the altar, and there remember that your brother has something against you, 24 leave your offering there before the altar and go; first be reconciled to your brother, and then come and present your offering."

Bringing me to today. I wrote the first letter to my husband, asking his forgiveness for all of the harm I've done to him. I gave it to him and sat with him while he read it. When he finished, he, teary-eyed, said, "I can't believe you remembered doing those things. I thought you had forgotten. I was ready to never bring them up again, thinking it would have been petty to tell you that you hurt me after so much time had passed. Of course I forgive you. Thank you for acknowledging these things. It makes me feel so good to hear that you regretted hurting me."

I know that all of the amends might not go as well, but I am hopeful. The amends I am most reluctant to do are those with my family of origin. I will do them, but I will probably do the easier ones first, to build up some confidence.

Why do I feel like I just jumped out of an airplane?

M.I.A.

Hey, I haven't disappeared. I just told anyone in group that is also part of the book study, that I am having computer related issues. The fan in the computer is turning off randomly and then the computer shuts down to protect itself. Gee, that sounds like every relationship I've ever had!

Anyway, the problem should be fixed by Monday, God willing, and I'll update you on some new developments. Meanwhile, call me today or Sunday night if you get the chance. Excited to share what happened to me in group this week!

On Swallowing a Bomb

I was thinking yesterday about something that has really been bothering me since last January. It's weird. I don't know why I'm waiting until now to write about this because, even now, I'm not completely clear on why I feel the way I do. Maybe someone else has felt the same way and has some insight.

Last year, after my husband's third polygraph (failed the first two), I was presented with ALL of the truth about his acting out behaviors. For me, this was a good thing. I was able to decide for myself whether, after knowing everything, I wanted to continue in the relationship or walk away. Obviously, I chose to stay.

Here is what is bothering me. Part of the information that came out of that third polygraph was that my husband had a real live affair within the first two years of our marriage with a girl/woman he went to college with. Her name was T, and she was known by the guys in the dorms as "the roach." I still have no idea why they would call her such a thing, but that is how they referred to her.

T was sort of plain looking. She was just a little shorter than me, very thin, very pale, freckles, dark brown hair, dark brown eyes, smoke stained teeth. She probably went unnoticed a lot in a crowd, because her personality was sort of absent too. I tried to be friendly with her a few times when I would visit P's college, because I wanted to get to know his friends, but there was this impenatrable force field around her that didn't allow me to get to know her at all.

In the time P and I dated, I saw her a few times at parties and over the course of a weekend for a wedding we were invited to, and then we drove out to see her and another college buddy when they lived in Florida and we lived in Texas. I knew that she and P had been sexual when they were in college. P and I weren't married or even seeing each other at the time when that happened, so it was something that I was willing to look past because it was part of P's past. Everybody has a past, right?

Finding out about the sex between them after the polygraph was a strange experience. I was in the parking lot of the local supermarket, picking up a dessert to bring to the friend that I was going to visit moments later. I had left an email message for P that the polygraph results had come and showed deception on one of the questions. He called me over his lunch hour and said, "I have to tell you something. Remember how I told you that at that bachelor party, I kissed T? Well, it was more than that."

I stood there in the parking lot with a grocery store bakery layer cake in a yellow plastic bag hanging off of my arm, getting the news that he had in fact cheated on me, on my cell phone. I tried to strong arm our preschooler into her carseat, while cradling the phone between my ear and my shoulder, at the same time balancing the chocolate whatever-it-was so that it didn't lose all of it's icing.

"Hold on" I said. I set the cake down on the front seat of the van, buckled up the protesting four year old, and said to our son, "Watch your sister!" I clicked the door locks shut, and watched the van from about 20 yards away. "You want to tell me this NOW?! I'm going to D's house for lunch this very minute. How the f--- am I supposed to compose myself by the time I get over there?"

I snapped the phone shut and forced my body into the van. My son had the "oh, sh*t, mom's mad" look on his face. All I could think of was, "How am I going to pull this off? How am I going to look like I didn't just swallow a ticking bomb? How am I going to put on the "everything's just fine" expression?

But I did. And I wore that expression for two straight hours while we sat talking about the school district, and our other children, and how well our boys get along together, and their new trampoline, and their bedroom renovation, and what a great summer we were going to have together. And that bomb just kept jumping around in my stomach, threatening to pop out and onto the table for D to see. But I just kept holding it back.

Then we drove home. And the bomb just stayed there until I could finally speak to my husband again at 4:30, when he would be driving back over to his mother's house. And finally, my insides exploded. "HOW COULD YOU!!!" But not for the obvious reason, although that was one of them.

How could he? How could he have slept with THAT woman? How could he keep that secret from me for 17 years? But most weighing on my mind was how could he have kept me a slave to my own shame over the affair that I had had (when he was in anorexia mode), when he had done the same thing? He kept saying to me every time he would act out, either emotionally, or m-ing or ex-ing, "At least *I* didn't go outside of our marriage!" HOW COULD HE let me keep punishing myself for my own affair? How could HE shame me over the same thing he was guilty of?

I quickly justified my sin, "I was at least *lonely*, you were just *alone.*" (Sidenote: what I did was horribly wrong, and I will never condone nor defend what I did. It was WRONG. I was WRONG.)

But that is just how I came to find out. Afterward, he also told me that when we went to visit her and P (a friend) in Florida, that he laid there that night, m-ing, reliving the memory of cheating.

Believe it or not, THAT was the day I came to understand that he was an addict. The day that he admitted sleeping with HER. Please don't misunderstand me. I've made it clear before that I am not "all that." Physically though, I am certain that I have more going on than she does. I know that sounds horribly vain, and I realize that physical attraction is only one aspect of a person's makeup. BUT, my husband didn't want her for her personality that night. He wanted little more than fifteen minutes of her time.

I know, that was a long way to go to get to my point, but bear with me. It's almost over.

What is concerning me is that, my anger towards her was so fleeting. It lasted about a minute or two, relatively speaking. Even now, I can't really muster up a whole lot of feelings when I think of her sleeping with him. I could probably still invoke some anger for all of the people he's had emotional affairs with. I won't, but the point is I might still resent some of their behaviors with my husband, where I'm willing to give her a free pass. I just don't understand this.

One of the reasons I've come up with is that maybe the emotional affairs bothered me more because they were ongoing and they were based in feelings, and could have easily been based in love. Whereas, the physical affair was a one time equivalent of getting an itch scratched, although I do understand that it is not as simple as I make it sound. But the physical affair didn't drag on and on with drama. It was very cut and dry.

Another reason I think it may have bothered me less is that it didn't mess so much with my already low self esteem. Maybe I felt superior to her in the looks department, so I wrote her off as being "less" than me. God forgive me if that is the case.

The last reason I can think of is that I have been characterizing her lately as a sex addict. My husband told me that she certainly acted like the other female sex addicts in group and that he would classify her as one, having been with her several times. But, my question is, is the crazy codependent in me feeling sorry for her, thereby forgiving her for committing adultery but not completely forgiving all of the others that didn't commit adultery.

So anyway...that's where my head's been lately! Forgive me for rambling.