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.

Finished!

Well, I finally finished Step Seven. Yay! I think I may have been taking a long time doing this Step for a few reasons. One, and probably the biggest one, is that finishing Step Seven means I am on to Step Eight. Making my list of the people I've harmed and becoming willing to make amends to them all. At this moment in time, it seems like an insurmountable request. I don't know where I am going to summon up the strength to do this.

See, it would be easier to do if there were any effective communication in my family of origin. I just picture myself as Lisa Simpson from the sitcom "The Simpsons" giving my letter to my sister (played by Nelson Muntz) and the trademark, "HA, HA" coming out of her mouth. This is the part in the show where I walk away from Nelson wondering why I even bother, dragging my saxophone behind me.

Looking at it now, I can see why I would dilly-dally and not try to go barreling into Step Eight. Being the laughingstock of "Springfield" isn't on my list of "things to do" this year.

Another reason I think it took so long was that (again) I was aiming for perfection. I wanted my prayers to be perfect. I agonized over them, writing and rewriting, as if God was my ninth grade English teacher with a penchant for red pens. Have I learned nothing? I really need to be saved from myself.

Prayers Please

Oh, hey everyone. I haven't posted in a while. I will probably post more next week as I finish my Step Seven. I'm almost done. I've got about eleven more defects left to pray over. At the rate of two a day, I should be done by the time group rolls around next week. Yay!

I was just wondering if I could ask you guys to pray for me this weekend (and for the next eight weekends in a row). I begin working the 36 hour shifts for my private duty lady starting tomorrow morning at 7am. I am very nervous about being able to physically and emotionally handle this. I realize I should have prayed more before accepting this responsibility, but of course now I'm struggling with having agreed to do this. The good news is that this is not a permanent situation. It is short term while a coworker recovers from shoulder surgery. The bad news is I'm cramming an entire full-time job into the span of one weekend. For the next eight weekends. Does the word "unmanageable" mean anything to me???

Thermonuclear Reaction

Okay, just a warning...I am having a meltdown of biblical proportions today. End of days type of a meltdown. The kind of conniption that is only rivaled by Godzilla's wrath on Tokyo. I want to chew people up and then spit them back out. Once all of the time zones catch up to a wakeable hour, I'm going to make a phone call to help me get my sanity back.

I'm having a really tough time with my son, A (aka Spike). He's taken on the bad habit of lying lately. It's like you can't rely on anything he says, from where he's been to what he's had for breakfast. Also, he's just been downright defiant.

Our most recent "match" began on Friday. This part is absolutely ridiculous and I am embarrassed to even write about it. I came downstairs in the morning to an freshly opened box of Golden Grahams. No big deal, right? Well, I said to A, "Could you do me a favor? Can you please not open any more boxes of cereal until we finish the other *five* that are open? I don't want them to get stale and subsequently get wasted." The reply, "Sure, mom!"

Monday morning, I'm looking for cereal for my daughter. Open the closets, low and behold, *all* of the open boxes of cereal are gone! Wow, either someone was really hungry on Saturday and Sunday or my intelligence is being underestimated by a sneaky 15 year old.

Yesterday, I was cleaning out the garage and getting the recycling together. One of the paper bags tore open and spilled out onto the floor. A paper that was folded up so small that it looked like a cube caught my eye. On it were instructions for hacking passwords off of any computer that runs Windows.

Spoke with A, he did take all of the open boxes of cereal and hide them in his bedroom. He didn't like those flavors, so he figured he'd get rid of them himself. Nice try!

Asked him about the instructions I found in the garage, and he says, "Okay, that was me. Do you want me to tell you whose passwords I have so they can change them?" Hello, that is not the point! You cannot unring a bell! Now that you have the knowledge of how to get anyone's password, it doesn't matter if we change our passwords a hundred times, you can just summon them up anytime you want to!

After that discussion, I moved on to an incident that happened about two weeks ago. I was going upstairs to get my pocketbook so that I could leave for work. I heard A telling my other son T, "Don't worry. Mom will never find out." Then T said, "I am really nervous about this, A." Asked him what that was about. That was because my husband was running a virus scan on the computer and T was nervous because he had downloaded *porn* onto the family computer. My son A had removed it prior to the scan to save T's behind. Yeah, 13 and 15 year old kids looking at this smut. I nearly had a stroke!

But of course, the boy with an answer for everything says, "I don't see why you are getting all upset about the porn. These people are paid actors. Nobody is forcing them." I went into an absolute tirade about the correlation between porn actors and a history of sexual abuse. He just sighed and gave me the "you are so stupid" look. Then he tells me of the "married couples" that are doing this for extra money. Yeah, "it must be true because I saw it on the internet" reasoning.

I have *so* had it! I am ready to smash their computer to bits this morning! And it's not even 8am yet!

Humbly Asking

Well, I'm working on Step Seven lately and "humbly asking." This has really been good for me, so far. In the process, I've been learning a lot about myself and the condition of my spiritual life, which, truth be told, was never in such great shape. But it's getting better.

I've always had difficulty asking for things, partly from feeling not worthy, partly from feeling that I will be turned away for asking. Most recently (yesterday, in fact) I was speaking with a coworker at my private duty patient's house and told her that I was probably only going to continue my employment there through the end of the summer because I need health insurance for my family. She said, "Just ask her to pay you through the business account and you will automatically be offered benefits." I already know that I won't be asking. Thanks anyway. It's just *way* out of my comfort zone. I would sooner give up my job than ask. How self defeating is *that*? But that is my modus operandi, and has been for as long as I can remember. I sit and I wait for my employer, my parents, my friends to offer me the things that I need.

Interestingly, I will ask God for things that I need. But, the problem starts when God doesn't answer affirmatively or efficiently enough for me. Then, I start taking matters into my own hands and really make a mess of things. Instead of waiting, I grab my life back from Him with a "You're no help" attitude and sit and sulk with my back turned like some kind of toddler, until I muster up enough courage to go back to Him with an even bigger mess than I started out with. I cannot tell you how many times up to this point I've had to go back and rework Step Three! And still am.

I do see God working in my life, though. I know He will not leave me. It is very comforting to know that God is always the same, unchanging. He's always good. He always wants me back, even when I think I've really blown it and He couldn't ever forgive me.

Hopefully, He'll remove the pride or impatience first. But even if He doesn't, I need to remember that I'm in Good hands.

I had another strange dream the other night. The house I live in (in real life) is on a major road in our town. A natural barrier of trees exists between our house and the road. It gives us some sense of privacy and also suppresses the noise from the road. In the dream, I was tearing out all of the trees (with my bare hands), even though I knew this would allow all of the passersby to see our house and, ultimately, into our lives. I can't remember why I was tearing up the trees, just that I was very determined to do so. When I was finished I remembered feeling satisfied, but that was quickly squashed by the overwhelming feeling of "oh my gosh, what have I done?"


There were two ways I interpreted this. The first was, I am becoming more transparent. I'm allowing people to see what's really behind those trees that took many years to grow. Removing the trees also helps me see the road, too. Facing the reality of what lies beyond the walls I've erected to protect myself.


The second way I interpreted this was that by keeping this blog going, I am risking my own anonymity and that of my family (I am not the only person living in the house, after all). I do worry about this sometimes, especially if any friends or family members that don't know about my h's addiction were to find this blog mistakenly. Guess I'd have some explaining to do.


After pondering this for a few minutes just now, I think the first explanation is more fitting. The feeling of digging out those trees with my own two hands coupled with the fear of whether I would actually like the new landscape or not makes the first explanation a better fit.

I'm expressing myself very metaphorically lately, at least in my dreams.

Step Six

Yesterday in group, I shared Step Six, *finally*. It went well, considering all of the other work Kim had me share. The good news is that I'm on to Step Seven now, and won't share for a few weeks. I think it will take that long for my tongue and salivary glands to recover. And everyone's ears too!

I went out with my husband for dinner last night after the meeting and I told him I shared Step Six. He said, "That's good. I know you were having problems 'getting ready.'" After we came home and were tucked into bed, I told him, "One of the reasons I think I've had such a hard time is because I'm afraid that if God takes all of my character defects I'll be devoid of personality." Has anyone else ever felt that way?

I've come to enjoy my sarcasm (and the sarcasm of others), especially when relating it to this coaddiction stuff. Sometimes I see my stubbornness as an asset, like perseverence. And it's kind of funny when P calls me Mr. Monk when I start getting "too perfect" for him. I was a little afraid to make the jump, not only because of the huge purposes the character defects were filling in my life, but also because I was afraid of being a Jesus Zombie Slave or something. Know what I mean?

Every now and then, I enjoy a good off color joke. Nothing hurtful, just nothing I would share with my children either. For example...(if you are easily offended by dirty jokes, stop here. If not, read on. Lil, I take comfort in knowing that you are one that will keep reading.)

A beautiful woman loved growing tomatoes, but couldn't seem to get her tomatoes to turn red.

One day while taking a stroll she came upon a gentleman neighbor who had the most beautiful garden full of huge red tomatoes. The woman asked the gentlemen, "What do you do to get your tomatoes red?"

The gentlemen responded, "Well, twice a day I stand in front of my tomato garden and expose myself, and my tomatoes turn red from blushing so much." The woman was so impressed, she decided to try doing the same thing to her tomato garden to see if it would work. So, twice a day for two weeks she exposed herself to her garden hoping for the best.

One day the gentleman was passing by and asked the woman, "How did you make out? Did your tomatoes turn red?" "No" she replied, "but my cucumbers are enormous."

I love that joke. But is it "Jesus Approved?" I'm really afraid to lose my sense of humor. It gets me through so much pain, it really does. And I love to laugh and smile and be happy. I just can't recall anywhere in the bible where milk comes out of Jesus' nose after hearing the one about the priest and the rabbi in the airplane from Peter. Although, the visual is making me grin.

I'm sorry. I mean no disrespect. But what is it about Jesus that makes me feel like I have to be so serious?

Too late, come what may. I'm finally ready.

Return to the Pit

Sometimes I think I am the recipient of faulty wiring in my brain.

This morning, like every morning, P woke me up when he was leaving for work. He sat at the edge of the bed, took my hands, said a prayer for us and the children, and kissed me goodbye.

Before he got up, I took the fabric from his shirt between my fingers and rubbed it together. I was a little surprised because he has been dressing very casually since starting the new job. Apparently, the dress code states, "You cannot dress better than the boss, so please wear jeans on a daily basis." The collared shirt was a little surprising. I smiled and said, "I love when you wear this shirt. You look great today."

He asked if I wanted him to pick up the grocery order on his way home from work. I did, so I dug some cash out of my wallet and handed it to him. Sidenote: I love my grocery store. I order the food online and they pick it out, ring it up, and keep it there waiting for you in their freezers until you pick it up. You don't even leave your car. They come out, ask who you are, take the money and coupons, bring you your change, and load the food into the car! How lazy am *I*???

Anyway, I decided to lay there for five or ten more minutes with my eyes closed after he left. It wound up being ten minutes in the end. My feet hit the carpet and it was like a shock wave went through me. A memory, that I didn't summon, emerged and started pushing all of my little red buttons.

My husband used to dress nicely on Thursdays when E (one of the other women)would be at his workplace. My mind went reeling, trying to remember if he was wearing cologne (another Thursday behavior). No, I would have remembered smelling it because it is my favorite. Was he going for a haircut? No, that was two weeks ago. Did he have cash...oh yeah. Two hundred and twenty bucks. He used to take cash so that there was no paper trail of the trips to lunch or Starbucks that he would spring for. He did say that R was going to be there today...

I called him on his cell phone. I was having a full blown panic attack. He assured me nothing was out of the ordinary. "D, I just prayed with you. I asked if you wanted me to pick up groceries. All of my thoughts so far have been of our family. Nothing is up, I swear."

And I cautiously believe this. But my brain...it just took me on Mr. Toad's Wild Ride again. I was happy to compliment my husband on his good looks and choice of attire one minute. The next, I was convinced he's hot for a pregnant chick!

So where is the recovery stuff I learned? I feel like I'm crawling out of the pit again. Nancy, are you sure after reading this you want me to be your sponsor? I could really use a phone call today, guys. If I don't hear from you first, expect one from me...

AM Dream...

During my share yesterday, I started crying. While sharing about the sexual abuse, I completely lost it. The last thing I want to do in a public forum is shed tears, but they would just not abate. I held back for as long as I could and then the dam broke. I don't want to cry about this stuff anymore. I don't want to waste tears on that. I feel like I've moved beyond that time of my life and I want to go forward. Guess my limbic system had other plans.

Interestingly, right before the alarm went off again, I had another dream. In it, I was doing some construction-type work in my kitchen. My mother came in and told me how my cousin (the person who abused me) had suffered a heart attack and died. Unaffected, I continued tearing up the floor boards, and replaced certain areas with new ones. I was a little surprised, on arising, at how callous I was. But, it was just a dream, and I can't be accountable for where my subconscious takes me at night. Loved the analogy of tearing up the floor boards, though.

Feelings, Nothing More Than Feelings

I've got a lot of feelings today, I'll warn you in advance. If you are even the least bit trigger-able, stop here.

I woke up very sad this morning. Just before P's alarm went off, I was in the middle of a horrible dream that he was acting out again (using pornography), and that he had been for a while. He claimed that it ended there, no exhibitionism, no other women, "just" porn. I was so sad and mad that he would trade more than a year of sobriety for this cheap garbage, that I began hitting him, the kind of hits that would make a prize-fighter proud. He just stood there, smiling.

Then the alarm went off. I woke up and just stared, in complete shock, at the ceiling. Of course I was shocked that he was acting out. But the other thing that stunned me...my "hits" were actually effective! Even though he was smiling, I knew he could feel them. In my dreams, when I wind up hitting someone or something, my punches are always so whimpy they just wind up rolling right off of the person. And I mean *always*. I've never had a dream where my attempts to defend myself (or assault someone, in this case) have been anything but feeble. I could be swinging with all my might and fury, and they are expressed as these tiny little love taps that couldn't hurt a fly.

The dream is in response to my fears/suspicions that something is just not quite right lately. I counseled with Kent on Monday and explained what P's behaviors have been. (For anyone not in group, I'm *not* checking up on him. These are his behaviors that we are told to *watch* for, not search for.) He's not been as respectful lately with regards to looking at other women, he doesn't change the channel on the television anymore when Victoria's Secret ads come on, has been making sexual innuendos where they are clearly not necessary, closing his eyes during lovemaking, and using bad language in the bedroom. It's all these little "pennies" that eventually will add up to a dollar. Not dealbreakers by themselves, but when coupled with other behaviors could indicate the potential for a slip. So, Kent was thinking maybe it's time for another joint appointment. So was I....

Another thing lately that's been annoying me is that I can't listen to my music anymore. It *reeks* of codependency. Well, some of it does anyway. My sister gave me her old iPod when she got her new one, so I kept most of the songs she had loaded onto it. During my workout yesterday, Barry Manilow came on and started singing that song "Can't Smile Without You." Sorry to all you Barry fans, but I started singing along and I felt like a traitor to my recovery, like I was glorifying that neediness. And in all fairness to Barry, his was not the only song I had to skip over.

Lastly, I've been trying to exercise four to five days a week for the past couple of weeks. So I made the mistake of getting on the scale to track my progress. That was the wrong thing to do. Instead of losing weight, I gained two pounds! I got so mad I went out and bought a sleeve of marshmallow Peeps and ate them that morning for breakfast! Yeah, that'll show *me*. Why do I do stuff like that? I guess I was feeling deprived or something. Other than that little display of madness, I've been pretty good this week.

Today it looks like I'm feeling sad, mad, shocked, fearful, annoyed, and deprived. I figured I'd be further along the path after a year into recovery, but at least my percentages are going up.

Getting Ready...Still

Although I have already looked at how my life could be better without my character defects, I think I need to look at how they are helping me to understand why I am having such a difficult time letting go of them. Why are they so important? I've been trying to "get ready" to release these things to God for almost two months and though I'm 100% ready on half of them, the other half doesn't want to budge yet.

Here is why (I think) I continue to cling to each of these rotten things...

Indifference/Apathy - I guess holding on to these would keep me from feeling the pain of other people's failures, especially those living with me. It relieves me of personal responsibility for any poor choices my children make. It keeps me disconnected and in a comfortable mind-numbing fog. I think establishing boundaries with the children will be good for this.

Laziness - It's another comfortable place for me where I don't have to connect and feel any pain. I can just be numb. Also, I think I have learned how to thrive in the midst of chaos (i.e. unpaid bills, disorganization).

Unforgiveness - It helps me hold people responsible for their actions toward me. Sort of like, "If I show them that they hurt me, maybe they will feel badly enough to apologize." It also enables me to feel justified in my anger and to feel "right."

Overindulgence - helps me to feel full when I am feeling so empty, emotionally and spiritually.

Perfectionism - distorts people's impression of me. Allows me to feel better when comparing myself to other people. Manipulates people's opinion of me so that they will like and accept me.

Criticism - again, helps me feel better when comparing myself to others. I think it shifts the focus off of me and onto the other person. Manipulates people to behave the way I want them to.

Procrastination - keeps me from committing to one thing or another, this way I don't have to make the "wrong" choice. Keeps me from facing the reality of situations.

Lack of drive to get ahead at work - this keeps me from being the responsible party when bad things go down. It keeps me free from blame and responsibility. Perpetuates the lie that I don't make mistakes. I fear that my stupidity would be revealed.

Anxiety/Fear - helps me think I'm "in control," to a certain extent. When I anticipate the outcomes, especially negative ones, I can be prepared for the worst, instead of the worst happening and being caught off guard. I think it is a physiological problem for me, and not always a choice, but I am choosing not to treat it with medicine.

Dishonesty - lets me "look" perfect to other people, which allows me to feel accepted.

Intolerance - it lets me think, "at least I am better off than so-and-so."

Self will and self sufficiency - sometimes I am afraid that God does not want what is best for me because of my former beliefs about God. Also, self suffiency is seen as a strength in this country and when people view me as self sufficient it, again, manipulates them into thinking I am "good."

Stubborness - helps me to appear to be in control, an impenatrable force. It gives the impression that I can't be manipulated. It also helps me to be in control because others don't want to argue with me, they would rather just "give in and let me have my way."

Controlling - allows me to get my way and not be uncomfortable. It feeds the lie that people won't disappoint me.

Gossiping - keeps me from being alienated by others. I perceive other people talking about me for not engaging in gossip. Like they can't trust me, or something. Although lately I don't engage in talking about others, it doesn't stop me from listening to gossip, which is just as bad for me.

Pettiness - creates drama and chaos when life gets too peaceful for me.


Ahhhh....I feel so much better now. Just getting this out really helps me to process my reasons for not letting go. I can actually pray about this now instead of just seeing myself as hopeless.

All Aboard!

Wow, two posts in a row. I must be feeling kind of crazy. Actually, my daughter has had me up since 3am, and I am getting no sleep in my own bed so I've found refuge in the den, blogging and watching Food Network. Probably not the best thing for a compulsive overeater to do alone at 4:30 in the morning.

Since most of you from group are already aware of just how messed up I am, I figure, what have I got to lose with this next post.

I wonder, am I drawn to the drama that living with an addict creates. It seems that anytime life began going smoothly, I would sabotage that peace with a crisis, either real or imagined. For example, when there was a lull after the birth of our second child, we adopted a dog from the humane society. Of course, not just any dog, but an abused dog. How fun...not! He would attack us whenever we would pick up a broom or a belt. He died not long after we adopted him after consuming a softball that he found in the basement and then washing it down with my nephew's sweater. That was very sad.

I took on an additional full time job when I already had a full time job. Got pregnant. Dumped the second full time job. Then, while pregnant with our third child, we purchased a pure bred pup, an commitment we couldn't afford financially or with respect to the training involved. Started school full time. Had an affair. Bought a house. Bought another dog we couldn't afford money- or time-wise. Then the drama of kicking out the husband and taking the husband back. Another baby, a new house, a couple of cats, several tanks of fish. More drama on D-Day number two.

I'm exhausted just thinking about all of the ways in which I've complicated my life without even giving it a second thought. I know much of this stuff is just life. But I recognize that whenever there is one of those uncomfortable lulls, I add a child or a pet or a situation that will create anything from severe stress to, at the very least, a temporary diversion. It's as if I am only happy in the midst of chaos. Ever since I was in middle school, I've admitted to working best under pressure. Given too much time, I putz around and ultimately forget what it was I was doing. Maybe I have ADD...or maybe I'm insane and can't help but enjoy a good rollercoaster ride every now and then. Either way, it's not good.

Repeating Patterns

I'm digging deep lately, and without seeing a private therapist, I'm taking on the role of psychoanalyzing myself. Mistake, I know. But I've formuated some questions for my therapist for when I speak to her again.

First of all, I noticed that in all three experiences I've had with men, the men were undoubtedly sex addicts. My husband, for obvious reasons. Matt, a man I dated before marrying my husband, was certainly a sex addict. He even went so far as to make a reference to me regarding our brief sexual relationship while at a party we both attended with our respective spouses. And then Dave...the voyeur who, while married, was also seeing me and another female that he eventually married. Once married to her, he sought me out after a wedding to inform me that he still thought about me every day.

Personally I would have taken myself for the wife of an alcoholic. Why, in all three cases, would I pick a sex addict? I don't consider myself to be a sex addict, so why wouldn't I choose someone like my dad, or at least throw in an alcoholic for variety? I'm a little surprised at how drawn I am to sex addicts. I even had a perfectly sweet male friend that was on his way to being an alcoholic, and when he asked me out, I turned him down. Why would I exclude him like that? It was as if the alcoholic wasn't unbalanced enough for me. And not to minimize the damage an alcoholic can do to a family, because I have many alcoholics in my life too. I just chose not to have sexual relationships with any of them.

The harsh reality is I chose this for myself, not once, not twice, but *three* times. Something tells me this was no coincidence. I was repeating a pattern that I was unable to control or identify until now. A little late, I might add.

Getting Honest - Defects 9 and 18

In the past year, the group has become a lifeline for me. We've shared on such deep levels with each other because of the nature of our husbands' (and our own) addictions and our desire to heal and move forward in recovery. I just wanted to let you all know how much I appreciate your honesty and openness with the most sensitive and protected areas of your lives.


At this point in the process of being restored to sanity, I need to give you some information that I was previously holding back on for reasons of shame, fear, and my own unwillingness to admit that my life is not perfect. My eldest son is a homosexual. So is my younger brother.

Some may be turned away by this revelation. That is alright. At least it is an *honest* response.

I know that some of us have had the topic of homosexuality arise in our conversations together. Let me just say, that I do not go back on anything I previously stated. *But,* I love my son. And he is gay.

I am sorry if anyone feels deceived by me. Please know that it was my own issue of feeling judged that lead me to bury the truth. This fear has caused me to become dishonest and phony, not just with you, but with myself. I've juggled my schedule and postponed get-togethers with friends to avoid times when my son is on break from college, keeping him in *my* closet, hiding him from friends who would judge *me.* Ashamed of my own child. Shame on *me!*

So for today, I am trying to walk in truth. For today, I'm abandoning my people-pleasing ways. And for today, I am 100% ready to have God remove these two character defects and to never ask for them back.

Character Defects #s 5, 6, 11, and 23

So, I'm still working on Step Six. Becoming entirely ready. I thought I was doing pretty well until yesterday afternoon when I was hit in the face by the two-by-four known as reality. My middle son came home from school and, as he usually does, wanted to share with me the events of the day. He is a very passionate young man, very exhuberant. He is not unlike me when I was his age. And this, for him, has proven to be a challenge when dealing with a mother that doesn't particularly like herself very much.

Things started off as they usually do with the traditional, "How was school? Did you have any tests? How are your friends today?" Well, I should have stopped with the question about having any tests. He started telling me about his friend, Jill, who advised him (for reasons he will not disclose) not to wear his hair in the "liberty spikes" that he has come to love. And then the story went on to tell how Adam advised him to wear them anyway. So like a snake, ready to strike, I went at this poor child and his choice of friends. "What is with this kid? Does *he* wear his hair like that, or does he just like to stand around and laugh at *you* for doing it? Why do all of your friends have to be weirdos? Why do they all have such bizarre hairstyles, and piercings, and body art? Why can't you just have *normal* friends?"

After him saying, "That's it, mom. You have been banned from this conversation," and then leaving the room, I was left alone with my self-pride and judgement and hypocrisy. And that was a good thing. I was proud of him (after, of course, a good romp with my old friend anger). I was very proud of him for setting a boundary and keeping it. Once I went into my attack mode, he immediately cut me off. And after a few minutes, I was grateful for him doing that. Not only did it benefit him (not having to hear more rotten things about his friends) but it benefitted me too. It stopped me from spewing anymore venom at my child. It smacked me in the head that I was being a self-righteous hypocrite.

This whole scenario is a flashback to my own childhood. Both of my parents were *extremely* prejudiced. Their friends were all white Catholics, mostly Irish. There was no room for variety in their house. I only realized this was going to be a problem after fourth grade when I became best friends with a girl who happened to be Korean, and very good friends with a girl who wasn't Catholic, but Jewish. So, for most of my teenage years, I heard my share of racial jokes, with my friends as the punchline. And these were nice, respectful, extremely bright kids. None of them were leading me down a destructive path, quite the contrary. But they didn't look like my parents, therefore, they were not accepted.

So here I was, faced with the same wound that I suffered as a child, and instead of mending it, I added salt to it and rubbed vigorously. And today, I don't want to get out of it by saying, "It's different." It's not different. I'm doing the same thing to him that was done to me. I'm judging his friends and him. I've never even *seen* Adam or Jill and I already have it in my mind what they are like. I hated it when my parents would make comments about my friends or say, "Why can't you just get some *white* friends? What do you have against white people, anyway?" And here I am, twenty years later, with the question, "Why can't you just have *normal* friends?"

What is the deal? Am I just doomed to keep repeating history in these cases? My mind says no. My eldest son had some really "out there" looking friends. One even dyed her hair magenta. Actually, that was just the one time I saw her. My son told me she colored it a different color (think "Lucky Charms," not Miss Clairol) every month or so. But I had no problem with *her*.

Do I conclude that I am working out things from my past with this child? He is the one that looks most like me (minus the liberty spikes of course). And he is the middle child (me too). And he is the most codependent of the bunch. Sometimes I feel my self-deprecation has rubbed off on him in a variety of ways and that it manifests itself in his making himself physically unattractive. I don't know...I'm just guessing at this point.

I feel like a giant failure as a mother. And "being aware" doesn't even help at this point. It's actually making me feel worse, because now I can't blame ignorance on this mess. The only one to blame is me and the light speed at which I judge people and situations.

Yep, definitely 100% ready to let God have *these* character defects. The other ones, I'm still clinging to for now...

Thief!

I must admit, I stole this video from another person's blog. I've been reduced to swiping blog material, a new personal low. Great stuff for Step 7, 8, and 9, though. I love it, although I am not proud of it not being "original." Someone else did the dirty work of finding it for me. Oh well, it's a beautiful song and the lyrics are amazing...

"I'm Not Who I Was" by Brandon Heath

I wish you could see me now
I wish I could show you how
I'm not who I was

I used to be mad at you
A little on the hurt side too
But I'm not who I was

I found my way around
To forgiving you
Some time ago
But I never got to tell you so

I found us in a photograph
I saw me and I had to laugh
You know, I'm not who I was

You were there, you were right above me
And I wonder if you ever loved me
Just for who I was

When the pain came back again
Like a bitter friend
It was all that I could do
To keep myself from blaming you

I reckon it's a funny thing
I figured out I can sing
Now I'm not who I was

I write about love and such
Maybe 'cause I want it so much
I'm not who I was

I was thinking maybe I
I should let you know
I am not the same
But I never did forget your name
Hello

Well the thing I find most amazing
In amazing grace
Is the chance to give it out
Maybe that's what love is all about

I wish you could see me now
I wish I could show you how
I'm not who I was

You're Uninvited!

So, I think I finally had a breakthrough this week in my recovery. My husband and I celebrated our anniversary last week, and so we recruited our mothers to watch the children so that we might have some "adult time." We spent a good portion of that time just talking and listening to each other.

One of the things I find is bothering me with the recovery work is that I spend so much time thinking lately, that I don't spend enough time doing. As I've shared in my check in's, fantasy seems to be occupying a major chunk of the old gray matter as of late. It's a giant nuisance because it immobilizes me. It's not anything that motivates change. It just sits, rotting, in the stinking cesspool of my cranium.

I confessed this to my husband while we were away. I told him my thoughts are controlling me and have jammed the circuitry in my head. It's like any time I even try to think of something useful, this daydream floats in and starts wheeling and dealing with the pleasure centers of my brain.

What is going on??? It's like I'm addicted, and I guess I am. I think I'm finally figuring out that I'm not just a coaddict, I'm also an addict. Whether it's food, fantasy, or whatever, I'm using this stuff to escape from my pain. And none of it is helping me! I'm wasting a life I could be living, instead of thinking about living it! Oh, God, I hate this! Help me, please!

People tell me to read the Bible when I feel crazy like this. I do...and it becomes addictive. I will sit for hours reading and reading and searching.

Today I am thankful that I am self aware regarding this issue. It needs to be served an eviction notice. I am definitely not living in the present while all of these thoughts circle around my mind, like buzzards waiting for me to succumb to this disease.

On a different, bizzare note from the depths of my psyche, I am sufficiently freaked out by something that happened this week. In addition to giving us money, my mother bought me a negligee for our anniversary. And not just a tasteful nightgown. I am talking about a black, sheer, breast enhancing, extremely short, piece of polyester! What the...?!? This is really bothering me!
Just a few touchpoints that might be triggering me: 1. Does she think that she knows my husband's sexual preferences in eveningwear so well that she felt inspired to buy this for him? 2. Is this a way to get into my husband's head while we are making love ("Wow, gotta remember to thank D----'s mom for this Frederick's of Hollywood bedroom adventure!") 3. How would she even guess that I would wear lingeree? I don't talk to her about sex, ever!!! Like, never-ever!!!

Freud would have a field day with this! Somebody f---ing help me! I'm totally crazy!!!





"Can you help me I'm bent I'm so scared that I'll never Get put back together"

Amazing Grace

As mentioned in my check-ins, I'm reading an awesome book by Philip Yancey called, "What's so Amazing About Grace?" This information is coming at a very serendipitous time, as I'm doing Steps Five and Six, and I firmly believe it's grace that's getting me through.


I never really understood "grace" until I started this book. Merriam-Webster defines grace as "unmerited divine assistance given humans for their regeneration or sanctification ." I guess.

"Unmerited," certainly. Often, the word "unmerited" is reserved for my day to day debacles, as I vehemently complain when someone has eaten the last slice of bread, or used the last square of Charmin. The "I don't deserve this" outcry rarely emerges when blessings appear in my life, though.

"Divine," again, definitely. Who else but God to give such a reckless, unabashed gift of love?


"Assistance." Mmmm...assistance? If my tire blows out on the freeway, I call roadside "assistance." When I'm waiting on hold for what seems like the best years of my life, I'm told that an operator will be picking up soon, happy to "assist" me. When my child's school is putting on a magic show, there is always a lovely "assistant" playing second fiddle to Marco the Magnificent. Assistance might be an understatement, depending on the need of the individual. In *my* case, assistance is a gross misrepresentation of what has been granted me. Maybe aid, benevolence, or charity might be more fitting, but there are truly no words for the magnitude of the concept.


"Given humans." Given, meaning, it's free folks! Note to self: definition did not say, "given humans in exchange for participation in and dependent upon attendance at Sunday Mass, a 10% tithing, volunteering to assist in the CCD program and any and all potluck suppers, and any other fair exchange of services, as determined by the gift giver. D-...remember...free! God's gift to you!


"For their regeneration." Okay, if I am interpreting this correctly, "for" is not meant to mean "in exchange for." Rather, I believe "for" to mean "to be used for." So, to be used for the process of regeneration, or becoming of a new creation in Christ. Maybe it means grace is given to help us become someone new in Christ. Anyone?


"And sanctification." Easton's 1897 Bible Dictionary says sanctification is "the work of the Holy Spirit bringing the whole nature more and more under the influences of the new gracious principles implanted in the soul in regeneration. In other words, sanctification is the carrying on to perfection the work begun in regeneration, and it extends to the whole man." So it seems that grace is also given that we feel encouraged and moved to avoid sin? Yes?

The problem I see with understanding grace, is that I believe one must experience it in order to "know" it. The definition in and of itself is not "wrong." In my opinion, it seems just a little sterile when trying to explain this level of intimacy.

I think "grace" is one of those words, like love. It is difficult to put onto paper all of the feelings associated with the enormity of such a concept.

Relying on Merriam-Webster again, love is defined as "strong affection for another arising out of kinship or personal ties." Although true, it feels incomplete. It's incomprehensible to me that what my family and I have been feeling for the past twenty years is reduced to "strong affection." If that were the case, I could have settled on adopting a cat, nevermind choosing to remain in an addictive relationship despite odds that were stacked against recovery. And even at that, I, dare I say, love my cat! Would I die for my cat? No (sorry Boots!). Would I take the hit for any one of my family members? Without even thinking about it! Strong affection? That feels a little watered down.

Back to grace. I think the process of grace begins when we abandon our self righteousness and work through His love, not for it. If we reverse the process and try to earn it, then it is no longer grace. It becomes about who we are, and not about who God is.

Truly, grace is amazing...

Eph.2:8-10: "For it is by grace you have been saved, through faith; and this not from yourselves - it is the gift of God - Not by works, so that no one can boast. For we are God's workmanship, created in Christ Jesus to do good works, which God prepared in advance for us to do."

Three Weeks Goes By Fast!

Wow! I've been really busy doing book work. Haven't been posting here too much.



Hey, can I just say something really amazing that keeps happening to me? It seems lately, when I have a question in mind, the answer will pop up in strange places.



Today, the answer came on an email list that I belong to. I was curious how people remain detached from issues surrounding their children when they are healing from codependency. I was going to post to the list, when I read down all the way to the bottom, and this one member had sort of like a tagline that she put at the bottom of her email. It has to be new, because I have never seen it before. It said, "~Don't see your child as a blank slate awaiting your pen, but as a written book awaiting your study.~Max Lucado." Whoa!



Although that did help with some of the question, the meat of the question still remains...where do my rights end and my children's rights begin? Do I have the right to confiscate an MP3 player with music that is complete and total trash?



My son downloaded more music than he will ever live to listen to onto his iPod. Much of it was stuff he never even listens to. I was sitting at the computer the other day and his "side" was loaded. The screen contained his music list. Some of the titles were really out there. I asked him to come downstairs so we could discuss what I was seeing. One of the songs was by The Dead Kennedys. I don't even want to say what the title was, it was so offensive. When I played the song for him, he was shocked that this band would play such a song. He actually had a visceral reaction to it and almost threw up.

Let me just say, I have worked a lot on this with Kim, releasing my expectations of how my children "should" act, look, and behave. I have such a hard time with releasing these things and letting the kids be themselves.

My middle child, the same one as above, has a giant rebellious streak. He grows his hair long (and sometimes wears it in liberty spikes), dresses in lots of black clothes, and listens to strange music. It's hard for others to know who he is, because he shows this tough guy image, but he's a really nice kid. He tells me it's a "test" to see who his friends are.

I know I shouldn't worry. He's very well liked by classmates and many teachers. And his friends are really good kids. I guess I just feel the judgement of the other parents when they see him. Thank God his two best friend's parents know me. The one friend is the son of the neighborhood pediatrician, the other is the son of the pastor of a church. And these are the things I am working at letting go of...appearances.

But what of the iPod? The stuff that is directly affecting their hearts. I can deal with the superficial nonsense of the hair and the clothes, but what about what they see and watch every day? Our kids are exposed to so much today, and so fast, it's really alarming. It seems I can't even protect them from this stuff, it comes at us so fast. The two younger boys (15 and 13) have both already seen 'R' rated movies with their friends at sleepovers and parties.

So, back to the Lucado quote. I guess I'm fumbling with not trying to rewrite the characters, while trying to ensure that the book has a happy ending. Any feedback would be greatly appreciated. Thanks guys!

Happy New Year!

Hey Anyone who is reading this!


Happy New Year, Merry Christmas, and all of the other good stuff I could wish you! I just figured I'd catch up on the past couple of weeks since I last posted.


My middle son is recovering very nicely after his back surgery, thanks for all of the prayers and well-wishes. He's my hero...he's been through so much this year, yet still maintains a positive outlook. What a kid!

Christmas Eve was spent with my parents at their Christmas Eve party. I don't understand why my mother hosts these things when all they do is stress her out. I've gotta tell you, her parties, from start to finish, usually are an enormous trigger for bringing up issues from my past. They always involve the cousin who sexually abused me, and they always involve drinking.

This year's party wasn't too much different, except I felt myself handling things better than I would have last year. I felt it begin the moment I received her invitation. She always sends it in her Christmas card to us. Here we go on the pity pot...why do I always get the crappy cards that she gets free from the Veteran's Association that look like they are about thirty years old? Other relatives speak of her beautiful Christmas Cards, but she saves the nasty ones for me. For years I thought she was just being thrifty and sent out the freebie cards to everyone. It even made me sad, thinking maybe she couldn't afford the nice cards. But visits with other relatives opened my eyes to what is going on. She is buying the nice cards for them and sending me the free ones that don't look so great. I tried not to let it bother me, but my self worth seems to be wrapped up in material things sometimes. Shouldn't it be enough, after all, that she remembered to send me one?

Anyway, the party went well. She argued about how much food was going to be wasted if people didn't eat. She was right...about fifteen pounds of cookies got chucked because there were too many. About three quarters of the way through the party, she had an allergic reaction to either the feta cheese or the balsamic vinaigrette on the pear salad. She refused to go to the emergency room, refused Benadryl, so I refused to pay any attention to the goings on. I figured if she fell to the ground, I'd call 911, but I wasn't going to stand there and watch her be a martyr and then insult the medical profession (yet again) that was trying to help her. And you know what? She didn't die, she was fine. Complained how my father did nothing to help her though.

Christmas afternoon, we went to my in-laws to visit, and that was good. My only trigger over there had to do with another childhood issue. My MIL bought my daughter used sheets at the thrift store where she works for her birthday, which was also this month. I can deal with used stuff, just not for birthdays or holidays.

It was triggering me because I never got new clothes when I was young. Everything was a hand me down. Thank God my very generous neighbor had taste that was in line with mine. My mom always shopped at the Nearly New store for me, but not for my sister. My sister refused to wear anything that wasn't new. Once, a girl at school said that I looked like I crawled out of the Salvation Army bin. I was mortified. I hated everything my mother brought home from that store after that. I remember the first Christmas I actually got a shirt that I had asked for. I was in eighth grade. It was a shiny white material and had a skinny light blue tie (it was the eighties, people). I wore that shirt at least twice a week until it didn't fit me anymore. Not only because I loved the shirt, but because I was taking it as a confirmation that I was loved by my mother. That she listened to me, and wanted me to be happy. And I wore it to reflect back the love that I was feeling, thanking her for finally proving how much she loved me. I think I'll always remember that shirt, if I live to be 100 years old.

So, this brings me to a question...how do you maintain a relationship with a parent that wants to have a relationship with you, but also wants to emotionally beat the crap out of you? I try to let this stuff go, because of times in my life like when she bought me the shirt, or the Barbie Perfume Maker, or the birthday card with the bubble bath inside for my sixth or seventh birthday (again with the material goods). There seems to be such an extreme in my thought pattern...she bought me a real birthday card...she loves me! She bought me a shirt in a size 22W...she loves me not! Does anyone else have this going on in their lives? The instability of not knowing whether you are truly loved? I had this a lot with my husband too before recovery. He didn't look at that supermodel...he loves me! He looked at porn while I was at work...he loves me not! This way of thinking used to define my relationship with God as well.

For now, I guess I have to treat it like I do with my husband, with boundaries and consequences. I just wish it didn't hurt so much.

On a very *light* note, I met our dear friend Lillian and her husband! What a great time my husband and I had. I must say, I had a strong suspicion it was her when I first saw her because she looked like I had envisioned, except curlier hair. There is a woman who works in our town that sounds a lot like Lillian, and every time I hear this woman speak, I think of Lil. The conversation was easy, the mood was light, the dessert was high in calories...it was awesome! And the company was fantastic!!! The time really flew by, though. Hope we can do it again very soon. And I hope they had a safe trip back to the Island and then back to Michigan.

So, for now, I want to leave you with a video that I love, by a band that I also love...peace and joy to all of us in 2008...