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...