I decided not to give weight to much of my conversation with Husband Thursday night. I'm not at my best when I'm drunk, so I chose to give him the benefit of the doubt. Friday morning he apologized for walking out on our conversation, and for the things he said. As I suspected, throwing in the towel was just a drunken gesture.
So we have work to do.
We both lost our wedding rings this year. He on a balmy September day at the beach, me a couple months later. I don't know where. I'd been thinking about what a new ring might symbolize for me, and I'd decided that instead of "forever" the circle would be an "O" and represent opportunity. Because our relationship is that for both of us - an opportunity to confront the deeper things we need to grow and develop as human beings. As long as we can maintain a healthy environment in which we're both working and progressing, I'm willing.
We went out tonight and had some good conversation. Mostly I talked, actually, and he listened. I talked about how much his lying hurts me, presses on the places where I'm tender - where my feelings of unworthiness reside. I told him that I hoped he'd try to get to the roots of the things it seems his addictions are servicing - his fear of being left, his resentments for being undervalued and unacknowledged, the entitlement that arises out of that, and his fear of inciting my anger. I'm an absolutist, but I'm not an angry, irrational person. His mother is. I'm not her, but I'm paying the price for their relationship and I'm not willing to stay in that role. I told him that, too.
I acknowledged some of my own issues that contribute to our dynamic: My absolutism, my deep seated feeling that I must never need a man so I won't be vulnerable to dependency, and my need to make sure men I'm in relationships know that I'm not dependent on them. Of course they fit neatly into his issues. I guess we really do seek out that which we need to learn.
He went to his first AA meeting today, and wasn't surprised to find he was in the right place. He told me he'd always avoided going to AA because he wasn't an alcoholic, and didn't want to give up drinking. But he said that recently all the problems we've been having - the lies he's told - have revolved around his drinking. He talked about how he'd stopped having boundaries around work, and let his practices and meeting attendance slip because of it. He's going to return to regular spiritual practices, regular meetings, and to regular exercise as well - the things he needs to do to take care of himself.
Addicts slip. We all do. But he's willing to own up to his mistakes, willing to take responsibility for his actions, for his well-being, and for his part in building a healthy relationship. He's willing, as I am, to choose to move toward his challenges instead of running and avoiding.
So things are better. I don't feel so lost. In fact, because I am more grounded in my own self now and less reactive, I feel stronger and more peaceful.
There is still work to be done, for sure. The difference now is I've learned that I'm up to the task.
Showing posts with label healing. Show all posts
Showing posts with label healing. Show all posts
Sunday, December 18, 2011
Wednesday, October 26, 2011
The difference between "letting go" and "giving up"
A little light bulb went on for me tonight in my 12-step meeting. Not something completely new, but something that finally clicked.
When I was younger, my mother often counseled me to "let it go." She was typically referring to feelings of anger or upset. "You don't gain anything by being angry. Just let it go."
It seemed reasonable, seemed to make sense, seemed to be something a nice, understanding person would do.
And as a child growing up in an authoritarian household it was her only option.
But it didn't ever feel right. If you're violated, how do you simply "let it go?" Isn't that just denial? Isn't that just stuffing it down, taking it, being a door mat?
Turning the other cheek never felt right to me inside. It felt like giving up, giving in, shortchanging myself. And it never felt honest. And it was never really gone.
So tonight when we were talking about "let go and let God," that phrase was snagging me.
But then our speaker phrased the question in a way that landed in my gut.
"How do you let go and let God? How do you take an appropriate action without being attached to the result?"
Clouds parted! That's right! That's the difference!!
What was missing from my mother's advice was the part about taking an appropriate action.
When someone is an asshole, the healthy way to let go is not to deny or oppress your feelings or response; it is to TAKE AN APPROPRIATE ACTION and then turn it over to your higher power (in other words, not be attached to the result.)
That is not giving up.
That is standing up for yourself, taking care of yourself, without being attached to a certain outcome (in other words, not expecting someone to change because you're pissed off, or validate your perspective - which they may not) and being willing to do it again as necessary until you feel heard and complete.
Letting go in the denial sense leaves me feeling angry, resentful and unresolved.
Letting go in a healthy way leaves me feeling empowered and peaceful.
Ahhhh.
When I was younger, my mother often counseled me to "let it go." She was typically referring to feelings of anger or upset. "You don't gain anything by being angry. Just let it go."
It seemed reasonable, seemed to make sense, seemed to be something a nice, understanding person would do.
And as a child growing up in an authoritarian household it was her only option.
But it didn't ever feel right. If you're violated, how do you simply "let it go?" Isn't that just denial? Isn't that just stuffing it down, taking it, being a door mat?
Turning the other cheek never felt right to me inside. It felt like giving up, giving in, shortchanging myself. And it never felt honest. And it was never really gone.
So tonight when we were talking about "let go and let God," that phrase was snagging me.
But then our speaker phrased the question in a way that landed in my gut.
"How do you let go and let God? How do you take an appropriate action without being attached to the result?"
Clouds parted! That's right! That's the difference!!
What was missing from my mother's advice was the part about taking an appropriate action.
When someone is an asshole, the healthy way to let go is not to deny or oppress your feelings or response; it is to TAKE AN APPROPRIATE ACTION and then turn it over to your higher power (in other words, not be attached to the result.)
That is not giving up.
That is standing up for yourself, taking care of yourself, without being attached to a certain outcome (in other words, not expecting someone to change because you're pissed off, or validate your perspective - which they may not) and being willing to do it again as necessary until you feel heard and complete.
Letting go in the denial sense leaves me feeling angry, resentful and unresolved.
Letting go in a healthy way leaves me feeling empowered and peaceful.
Ahhhh.
Tuesday, September 21, 2010
How far I've come
Last night I was looking at some phrases I've kept on a piece of paper beside the bed to remind me about what I've learned from discovering Husband's sex addiction.
It made me happy to realize that I've really grown and changed in some very potent ways.
I'm proud of myself, because it wasn't an easy road, and it could have gone many different ways.
I'm still growing and developing, but now I have these new tools that have become part of me that make me stronger in the world. Stronger for myself.
There have been a lot of challenging things happening in my life lately. An unanticipated hysterectomy, discovering Husband had been looking at Sports Illustrated swimsuit models online again, the loss of my 14 year-old dog to cancer, the loss of a business partnership, job interviews for big jobs, and falling behind on the mortgage.
Through all of this, I've used the new tools I've learned - turning things over to higher power, new levels of confidence, speaking up for myself without worrying about being "reasonable," operating as if I deserve all good things that come to me, surrendering, praying, listening for higher power, choosing a context that empowers me, and not running from fear, pain or adversity...
I can feel my own strength in ways I never have before. I can feel a relationship with myself that I never had before.
I feel ready for the world, ready for any challenge, ready to make the most of every opportunity. All this is new, and thanks to the work I've done.
It's been worth it.
- I can find peace and freedom in surrender and gratitude
- I'm powerless. Just admit it and surrender (over and over and over again)
- One day at a time.
- My most important relationship is with my higher power, which I am an expression of
- My most important actions are to use my life and my abilities to be of service as an expression of love, compassion and non-duality, and to celebrate everything I have.
- If I listen for it I will always hear the voice of higher power.
- Pain, fear and all kinds of adversity are opportunity. I can allow both the good and the bad to be gifts.
- What am I resisting?
- I can always choose the most empowering context.
- Surrendering to the moment at hand is usually the most powerful response.
- Have fun!
- If I forget all of this, remembering is the next part of my journey
It made me happy to realize that I've really grown and changed in some very potent ways.
I'm proud of myself, because it wasn't an easy road, and it could have gone many different ways.
I'm still growing and developing, but now I have these new tools that have become part of me that make me stronger in the world. Stronger for myself.
There have been a lot of challenging things happening in my life lately. An unanticipated hysterectomy, discovering Husband had been looking at Sports Illustrated swimsuit models online again, the loss of my 14 year-old dog to cancer, the loss of a business partnership, job interviews for big jobs, and falling behind on the mortgage.
Through all of this, I've used the new tools I've learned - turning things over to higher power, new levels of confidence, speaking up for myself without worrying about being "reasonable," operating as if I deserve all good things that come to me, surrendering, praying, listening for higher power, choosing a context that empowers me, and not running from fear, pain or adversity...
I can feel my own strength in ways I never have before. I can feel a relationship with myself that I never had before.
I feel ready for the world, ready for any challenge, ready to make the most of every opportunity. All this is new, and thanks to the work I've done.
It's been worth it.
Friday, August 6, 2010
What to do with the things I can't change
When I met Husband in 1988, Mom and I were renting an apartment together. After Husband and I became a couple, he moved in with us and we three have lived together ever since, through 22 years, 2 more apartments and a house.
If Husband is my greatest teacher in the spiritual sense, my mother is his. This translates into a very difficult relationship between them. Not very pleasant for me, but, especially over the last 3 years, I've tried to stay out of it.
Husband had told me that he felt trapped, because he knows I'd never be able to ask my mom to move out. I empathize with him, but he's right. It's a cost to me to have her here, but the cost to me of asking her to leave would be greater. And Husband has been compassionate in not asking me to make that choice. But it's important to him that I know how stressful it is for him, that I know his feelings.
The other day as I listened to Husband complain about mom, I could see clearly how he could relieve a lot of the pressure himself.
My mother isn't malicious. At her worst she's passive aggressive, but many times she's just doing her codependent best to be helpful. Mom doesn't have a good set of tools for self-expression, and she's not aware of what an absolutist she is. She rejects anything that starts to feel like an authority figure (even her own decisions) and frequently undermines us as parents by siding with my son on subjects such as bedtime, consumption of sweets and treats, second helpings, etc... She generally focuses on the worst that could possibly happen. And she is very self-righteous, while at the same time vehemently declaring her disdain for self-righteous people. In short, mom lacks self-awareness on many levels. But she tries to be helpful, and she does the best she can. (I'm really trying to cultivate compassion in my relationship with her, to let go of what I think she should be and appreciate the best of who she is. I have varying degrees of success.)
If one gets frustrated with a cat for meowing instead of mooing, who is causing the problem?
I understand many of Husband's problems with my mother. I share some of them, and I also have my own. But something I know that both Husband and I recognize is that there is little if any chance that the things that bother us about mom will change. For all intents and purposes, my mother is an immobile object.
As I listen to his complaints, I see all the things he could do from his own side to alleviate his suffering - for example, not taking her behavior personally, not expecting her to put our son to bed on time when she babysits, not getting upset when she draws our attention to the latest child kidnapping or tragic death, etc. (I don't tell him any of this, of course, because thanks to therapy I'm trying to practice listening without offering solutions.)
"It's like there's this thing in my life that I really, really wish wasn't there, but there's nothing I can do about it," he said. "You know what I mean?"
I felt like a light switch flipped on in my brain.
"Yes! Yes I do!" I said to both of us. "I know exactly what you're talking about."
I realized in that moment that this was how Husband could begin to understand how I feel about his lies and infidelity.
And in the next moment I began to wonder if all the clarity I had about how he could alleviate his own suffering could be applied to me when something triggers me into thinking about the past, or when I have uninvited thoughts and images come into my head.
Husband patted my leg. "I know you do," he said. "I know what you're talking about."
So I've been thinking it through. When there is something in my path that is beyond my control, the thing I can do is decide how I respond. I can get angry with the cat or feel hurt because it doesn't moo, I can feel disrespected when I ask the cat to moo and it meows, or I can say "That is a cat, and it meows." In other words, here is something that I don't have the power to change, and there is nothing for me to gain by wishing it to be anything other that what it is.
Or very specifically, the events of my past are what they are. Triggers and invasive thoughts are an opportunity for me to practice bringing myself back into the present moment, where I do have the power to have an impact.
What is going on in the present moment? Is Husband treating me the way I want and need to be treated? Is something bothering me that I need to address or express?
If things are good in the present moment, I can take a deep breath, surrender to the past that I have that will never be any other way, and enjoy the happiness of the present moment.
I think if one wants to try to change something that can't be changed (like the past) or that doesn't think it needs to be changed (like my mom) one must consider whether the cost of trying to change that thing (or wishing one could) is worth it, or if there is a more productive action that could be taken. I think there is a lot of truth to the saying "What you resist persists."
The trick is to figure out how to grow so that I'm not stopped by immobile objects in my path. Maybe it's finding compassion, maybe it's having a difficult conversation, maybe it's surrendering to my lack of control over something, or maybe it's something else.
I believe it's possible to progress without resisting that which I have no power to change.
It was a nice opening for me. I could feel the space created by seeing this parallel between Husband's situation and my own, and I could feel the peace that came with my willingness to surrender.
If Husband is my greatest teacher in the spiritual sense, my mother is his. This translates into a very difficult relationship between them. Not very pleasant for me, but, especially over the last 3 years, I've tried to stay out of it.
Husband had told me that he felt trapped, because he knows I'd never be able to ask my mom to move out. I empathize with him, but he's right. It's a cost to me to have her here, but the cost to me of asking her to leave would be greater. And Husband has been compassionate in not asking me to make that choice. But it's important to him that I know how stressful it is for him, that I know his feelings.
The other day as I listened to Husband complain about mom, I could see clearly how he could relieve a lot of the pressure himself.
My mother isn't malicious. At her worst she's passive aggressive, but many times she's just doing her codependent best to be helpful. Mom doesn't have a good set of tools for self-expression, and she's not aware of what an absolutist she is. She rejects anything that starts to feel like an authority figure (even her own decisions) and frequently undermines us as parents by siding with my son on subjects such as bedtime, consumption of sweets and treats, second helpings, etc... She generally focuses on the worst that could possibly happen. And she is very self-righteous, while at the same time vehemently declaring her disdain for self-righteous people. In short, mom lacks self-awareness on many levels. But she tries to be helpful, and she does the best she can. (I'm really trying to cultivate compassion in my relationship with her, to let go of what I think she should be and appreciate the best of who she is. I have varying degrees of success.)
If one gets frustrated with a cat for meowing instead of mooing, who is causing the problem?
I understand many of Husband's problems with my mother. I share some of them, and I also have my own. But something I know that both Husband and I recognize is that there is little if any chance that the things that bother us about mom will change. For all intents and purposes, my mother is an immobile object.
As I listen to his complaints, I see all the things he could do from his own side to alleviate his suffering - for example, not taking her behavior personally, not expecting her to put our son to bed on time when she babysits, not getting upset when she draws our attention to the latest child kidnapping or tragic death, etc. (I don't tell him any of this, of course, because thanks to therapy I'm trying to practice listening without offering solutions.)
"It's like there's this thing in my life that I really, really wish wasn't there, but there's nothing I can do about it," he said. "You know what I mean?"
I felt like a light switch flipped on in my brain.
"Yes! Yes I do!" I said to both of us. "I know exactly what you're talking about."
I realized in that moment that this was how Husband could begin to understand how I feel about his lies and infidelity.
And in the next moment I began to wonder if all the clarity I had about how he could alleviate his own suffering could be applied to me when something triggers me into thinking about the past, or when I have uninvited thoughts and images come into my head.
Husband patted my leg. "I know you do," he said. "I know what you're talking about."
So I've been thinking it through. When there is something in my path that is beyond my control, the thing I can do is decide how I respond. I can get angry with the cat or feel hurt because it doesn't moo, I can feel disrespected when I ask the cat to moo and it meows, or I can say "That is a cat, and it meows." In other words, here is something that I don't have the power to change, and there is nothing for me to gain by wishing it to be anything other that what it is.
Or very specifically, the events of my past are what they are. Triggers and invasive thoughts are an opportunity for me to practice bringing myself back into the present moment, where I do have the power to have an impact.
What is going on in the present moment? Is Husband treating me the way I want and need to be treated? Is something bothering me that I need to address or express?
If things are good in the present moment, I can take a deep breath, surrender to the past that I have that will never be any other way, and enjoy the happiness of the present moment.
I think if one wants to try to change something that can't be changed (like the past) or that doesn't think it needs to be changed (like my mom) one must consider whether the cost of trying to change that thing (or wishing one could) is worth it, or if there is a more productive action that could be taken. I think there is a lot of truth to the saying "What you resist persists."
The trick is to figure out how to grow so that I'm not stopped by immobile objects in my path. Maybe it's finding compassion, maybe it's having a difficult conversation, maybe it's surrendering to my lack of control over something, or maybe it's something else.
I believe it's possible to progress without resisting that which I have no power to change.
It was a nice opening for me. I could feel the space created by seeing this parallel between Husband's situation and my own, and I could feel the peace that came with my willingness to surrender.
Sunday, June 6, 2010
Triggered by Get Him to the Greek?
I usually like movies like this because I have the sense of humor of a 13 year old boy. Slapstick, poop jokes - funny stuff to me. But there is a scene of the guys in a Las Vegas strip club and as soon as that came onto the screen I got nauseous and my heart started racing. I haven't really seen lap dancing before, although I've imagined it since learning that Husband received this service regularly throughout our marriage, and even before.
Seeing a room full of barely clothed women mingling and rubbing up against men as other women swiveled around poles while groups of men gawked and talked instantly brought images of Husband in that situation into my mind. And they've been hard to shake. I went through our computer history last night and checked his email for anything suspicious - found nothing.
But it really repulses me that he participated in this. I think some of my current lack of interest in sex has to do with my being unable to separate the person in him that can objectify women that way from the person he is in our relationship. (I know that repulsive objectifier is still in there with the person I knew. Unfortunately I wasn't aware of that aspect of him for the first 19 years of our relationship.) I've never felt objectified by him. But for a long time now I get a queasy feeling when I think of doing any type of fantasy activity (dressing up in sexy lingerie for example) and I think that's because it feels like it would be part of that ugly fantasy world that also included lap dances and prostitutes.
I wish I had the opportunity to grow and change without having to think about our relationship at the same time. I know sex is part of a healthy relationship, and we've had good sex off and on since his sex addiction became known to me. But a lot of times I just have too much going on in my head to be present. And if I'm not present - well that's just not the kind of sex I want to have with anyone. I'd rather just not. But I know for him my lack of interest in sex feels like rejection. So I worry. Will this perceived rejection cause him to give up on our relationship? Because I'm not ready to do that. But I'm not ready to be vulnerable either.
I'm in a little bit of a freak-out still, although I know I have the tools to keep this from spiraling out of control. But I also feel that I have a lot of work to do to get some things out that are still inside me. Anger, fear, grief. Things that are keeping me from being present.
I don't know how to access these things. A friend from my recovery group is going to a funeral and I said to her that she should really take the opportunity to grieve, not just the loss of the one who passed, but other losses as well, because we get so few opportunities to do that. I think I was speaking in part to myself. I have this image of scraping out from inside me the things I've been unable to express, like scraping out the inside of a pumpkin, so I don't get snagged by the past over and over again, so I can authentically both acknowledge what has happened and internalize that this is a new and different moment. So I can feel peace, instead of fear and anxiety.
I don't feel that peace now. Just queasy, anxious and closed off. I can intellectualize myself back to peace using the tools I have, but I want to use my tools to work through this, not to fly above it. I want to stay with these feelings instead of going to my "enlightened" place about why I don't have to have them. Maybe these feelings and the resulting conversations will drag me through what is here for me to learn so that I can get closer to free.
Seeing a room full of barely clothed women mingling and rubbing up against men as other women swiveled around poles while groups of men gawked and talked instantly brought images of Husband in that situation into my mind. And they've been hard to shake. I went through our computer history last night and checked his email for anything suspicious - found nothing.
But it really repulses me that he participated in this. I think some of my current lack of interest in sex has to do with my being unable to separate the person in him that can objectify women that way from the person he is in our relationship. (I know that repulsive objectifier is still in there with the person I knew. Unfortunately I wasn't aware of that aspect of him for the first 19 years of our relationship.) I've never felt objectified by him. But for a long time now I get a queasy feeling when I think of doing any type of fantasy activity (dressing up in sexy lingerie for example) and I think that's because it feels like it would be part of that ugly fantasy world that also included lap dances and prostitutes.
I wish I had the opportunity to grow and change without having to think about our relationship at the same time. I know sex is part of a healthy relationship, and we've had good sex off and on since his sex addiction became known to me. But a lot of times I just have too much going on in my head to be present. And if I'm not present - well that's just not the kind of sex I want to have with anyone. I'd rather just not. But I know for him my lack of interest in sex feels like rejection. So I worry. Will this perceived rejection cause him to give up on our relationship? Because I'm not ready to do that. But I'm not ready to be vulnerable either.
I'm in a little bit of a freak-out still, although I know I have the tools to keep this from spiraling out of control. But I also feel that I have a lot of work to do to get some things out that are still inside me. Anger, fear, grief. Things that are keeping me from being present.
I don't know how to access these things. A friend from my recovery group is going to a funeral and I said to her that she should really take the opportunity to grieve, not just the loss of the one who passed, but other losses as well, because we get so few opportunities to do that. I think I was speaking in part to myself. I have this image of scraping out from inside me the things I've been unable to express, like scraping out the inside of a pumpkin, so I don't get snagged by the past over and over again, so I can authentically both acknowledge what has happened and internalize that this is a new and different moment. So I can feel peace, instead of fear and anxiety.
I don't feel that peace now. Just queasy, anxious and closed off. I can intellectualize myself back to peace using the tools I have, but I want to use my tools to work through this, not to fly above it. I want to stay with these feelings instead of going to my "enlightened" place about why I don't have to have them. Maybe these feelings and the resulting conversations will drag me through what is here for me to learn so that I can get closer to free.
Wednesday, April 21, 2010
No bathing twice in the same river…
I met Husband during an amazing and formative time in my mid-20s. Life was late nights doing theater and hanging out at the bar or diner across the street in the wee hours of the morning. We were young and creative and following our passions.
On a recent visit to that city, I returned to our old haunts. The building that housed our theater was completely gone, replaced by a glossy new high-rise. The diner had been raised and replaced by a Bed, Bath and Beyond. And there was a For Lease sign in the window of the bar.
The places where I’d had some of the most formative experiences of my life no longer existed. They had literally disappeared. Had I imagined that life?
It made me sad.
I had a similar experience when I learned that my grandparents’ house where I’d spent my teens had been bought and demolished by the next-door neighbor so he could expand his family compound.
The living room where I’d posed for pictures in my prom dress, the dock where my best friend and I would lie out in the sun and talk about boys and make-up and dieting and other things that girls of our age talked about; the deck and cupola that my uncle, now deceased, had designed and built so carefully with expert craftsmanship. And so much more. All gone. So many of my memories of teen-hood no longer had an anchor in this world.
It was strange, and realizing I could never go back I felt wistful.
Today I happened to walk by the hospital where Son was born. They are remodeling, and I could see that the part of the hospital where I’d spent the first 4 days of his life, staring with wonder and glee at my burrito-sized boy (he was 4 weeks early,) was being torn down. Soon there’d be nothing left of the place I’d spent those wonderful, amazing days but air. Or some new structure where the cycle of birth, life and death would continue with nothing to mark how special that little bit of space had been to me.
It made me sad.
I hold that time in my life so close to my heart. It was before I knew anything about Husband’s addiction, and life felt truly blissful. Husband was a great partner, and so happy to be a father. He wrapped and changed and held and rocked our little son while I recovered from a c-section.
Looking at that building always reminded me of that time. Of course I was actually blissfully ignorant. But I guess what you don’t know doesn’t hurt you until you know it.
A block away from that hospital is another building I pass by frequently of late. The “Asian Massage” parlor where Husband got his first hand job. That was the event that accelerated his sex addiction. He’d spend the first 13 years of our relationship content with porn magazines, online porn, and (unbeknownst to me) visits to peep shows and strip clubs. Within months after that “massage” he started using ads in the back of the Weekly to find women to give him hand jobs, and going to “massage” parlors. Within another couple of years he was having sex with prostitutes at massage parlors, and then ramping up to more frequent meetings with high priced prostitutes at hotels.
But that building has changed, too.
It’s recently become a “day spa.” The dark, one-way windows and “Oriental Massage” signs have been replaced by see-through glass and signs with pictures of women on them advertising skin care treatments.
It made me happy to see that building had evolved beyond its sad use as a thinly veiled venue for buying sex. I have often wondered how many women passed by that storefront with a shudder or a pit in their stomach.
Holding both the sadness of seeing the hospital and the good feeling of seeing the former massage parlor, it reminded me that this is what life is about.
Things change. That’s the one thing we can count on. The good changes. The bad changes. The highs become lows and then highs again. We change. We get fatter, thinner, more conservative, more adventurous, older, greyer - sometimes wiser. But every day, in some way we are different and life is different.
Something that remains a challenge for me is to leave room for the idea that Husband can change. Even after almost 3 years of recovery work, I don’t think I go a day without being reminded in some way of his betrayal.
But part of my work in this lifetime is to surrender to the fact that things change, and that much of life is beyond my control, no matter how hard I work, how nice I am, how smart I am, what class I take, what plans I make, or how much salt I throw over my shoulder. Husband is a different person today. He certainly isn’t perfect, but he’s done a lot of work and he is definitely a better partner for me than he was before. And I’m a better partner for him. And a much better partner for myself.
Like all things, I too can change.
On a recent visit to that city, I returned to our old haunts. The building that housed our theater was completely gone, replaced by a glossy new high-rise. The diner had been raised and replaced by a Bed, Bath and Beyond. And there was a For Lease sign in the window of the bar.
The places where I’d had some of the most formative experiences of my life no longer existed. They had literally disappeared. Had I imagined that life?
It made me sad.
I had a similar experience when I learned that my grandparents’ house where I’d spent my teens had been bought and demolished by the next-door neighbor so he could expand his family compound.
The living room where I’d posed for pictures in my prom dress, the dock where my best friend and I would lie out in the sun and talk about boys and make-up and dieting and other things that girls of our age talked about; the deck and cupola that my uncle, now deceased, had designed and built so carefully with expert craftsmanship. And so much more. All gone. So many of my memories of teen-hood no longer had an anchor in this world.
It was strange, and realizing I could never go back I felt wistful.
Today I happened to walk by the hospital where Son was born. They are remodeling, and I could see that the part of the hospital where I’d spent the first 4 days of his life, staring with wonder and glee at my burrito-sized boy (he was 4 weeks early,) was being torn down. Soon there’d be nothing left of the place I’d spent those wonderful, amazing days but air. Or some new structure where the cycle of birth, life and death would continue with nothing to mark how special that little bit of space had been to me.
It made me sad.
I hold that time in my life so close to my heart. It was before I knew anything about Husband’s addiction, and life felt truly blissful. Husband was a great partner, and so happy to be a father. He wrapped and changed and held and rocked our little son while I recovered from a c-section.
Looking at that building always reminded me of that time. Of course I was actually blissfully ignorant. But I guess what you don’t know doesn’t hurt you until you know it.
A block away from that hospital is another building I pass by frequently of late. The “Asian Massage” parlor where Husband got his first hand job. That was the event that accelerated his sex addiction. He’d spend the first 13 years of our relationship content with porn magazines, online porn, and (unbeknownst to me) visits to peep shows and strip clubs. Within months after that “massage” he started using ads in the back of the Weekly to find women to give him hand jobs, and going to “massage” parlors. Within another couple of years he was having sex with prostitutes at massage parlors, and then ramping up to more frequent meetings with high priced prostitutes at hotels.
But that building has changed, too.
It’s recently become a “day spa.” The dark, one-way windows and “Oriental Massage” signs have been replaced by see-through glass and signs with pictures of women on them advertising skin care treatments.
It made me happy to see that building had evolved beyond its sad use as a thinly veiled venue for buying sex. I have often wondered how many women passed by that storefront with a shudder or a pit in their stomach.
Holding both the sadness of seeing the hospital and the good feeling of seeing the former massage parlor, it reminded me that this is what life is about.
Things change. That’s the one thing we can count on. The good changes. The bad changes. The highs become lows and then highs again. We change. We get fatter, thinner, more conservative, more adventurous, older, greyer - sometimes wiser. But every day, in some way we are different and life is different.
Something that remains a challenge for me is to leave room for the idea that Husband can change. Even after almost 3 years of recovery work, I don’t think I go a day without being reminded in some way of his betrayal.
But part of my work in this lifetime is to surrender to the fact that things change, and that much of life is beyond my control, no matter how hard I work, how nice I am, how smart I am, what class I take, what plans I make, or how much salt I throw over my shoulder. Husband is a different person today. He certainly isn’t perfect, but he’s done a lot of work and he is definitely a better partner for me than he was before. And I’m a better partner for him. And a much better partner for myself.
Like all things, I too can change.
Friday, December 4, 2009
Pulling into the present (again)
Since I wrote about creating a deep, connected, loving partnership with this new man who stands where the man I married once stood I've had more peace, both in my relationship and in my self.
When I focus on connecting with Husband, he responds and I feel the possibility of our future together. When I freak out and withdraw into thinking about the past, I feel alone and isolated from him.
It's a hard line, because fully processing what happened is healthy and valuable to me, and seems to have its own timeline.
But when I can recognize that I'm feeling a way that doesn't serve me, that isn't uplifting or moving my life forward, I can try this technique of focusing on creating a deep loving connection with this person in my life now who wants to do just that from his side as well.
It seems to have made a big difference in how I've been feeling.
When I focus on connecting with Husband, he responds and I feel the possibility of our future together. When I freak out and withdraw into thinking about the past, I feel alone and isolated from him.
It's a hard line, because fully processing what happened is healthy and valuable to me, and seems to have its own timeline.
But when I can recognize that I'm feeling a way that doesn't serve me, that isn't uplifting or moving my life forward, I can try this technique of focusing on creating a deep loving connection with this person in my life now who wants to do just that from his side as well.
It seems to have made a big difference in how I've been feeling.
Monday, November 30, 2009
We've started telling people
When I first discovered Husband's secret life, I told only three close girlfriends - two that are sisters to me but live far away and one that lives close to me who I knew would be more inclined to listen than to judge (she's the one I made a pass at in the early crazy weeks after I first found out!) We also told one close friend who is like a brother to both of us. And Husband told his real brother when we went back for his sister's wedding a few months after I'd made the discovery.
Now, two and a half years later, we are opening up to others.
We'd already agreed we both felt comfortable with trusted friends knowing more about what's been going on with us, but neither of us had actually taken the step of telling anyone else. Last week, Husband went to dinner with a guy he's known since college and came home to tell me that he'd shared about his sex addiction with this friend. I know they guy, too, and think highly of him, so I didn't have any anxiety and felt happy that Husband had the courage to talk openly about something so "real" with someone else in his life. I know it's not easy for him to move beyond pop culture and intellectual parrying to reveal himself. They didn't talk long, but the friend expressed his concern and support.
Over the weekend I told a very close girlfriend I'd been wanting to tell for some time. She'd moved away just a week after I found out, and has recently moved back. I'd felt a wall between us because we talk deeply and openly about so much, but there was this important part of my life I wasn't sharing. She knew that something had happened, because I'd asked for a therapist referral and she new Husband and I were in counseling. But I hadn't wanted to color her relationship with Husband because they are friends (for 12 years), too. And I didn't feel comfortable with her telling her husband, nor did I want to ask her to keep a secret from him. So I hadn't told her, despite the fact that she is someone I'd normally turn to for support. Last weekend as we sat in the park watching our kids play together the moment felt right. She was sad as she imagined what it must have been like, but like Husband's friend she was mostly just concerned and supportive of both of us. She called me today, and she's still processing it. "It's still new to me, but I'll catch up," she said.
It feels great to have finally told her. I feel more authentically connected with her again. And she's another person I can count on when I catch myself in my typical MO of trying to handle things all alone. With most of my friends it doesn't feel strange that they don't know about this very personal thing in my life so I probably wouldn't have any reason to tell them. But with her, it was strange to withhold the life-changing events that I've gone through.
We're not going to shout it from the roof tops (for example I'm NEVER going to tell my mother because that would not be helpful to me,) but I think the fact that Husband and I can talk more openly about this part of our lives without shame, anxiety or the need to blame, justify, vilify or otherwise explain is indicative of the healing that's taken place for both of us. It feels good to be in this place, to have some distance from the pain and see the progress more clearly.
Now, two and a half years later, we are opening up to others.
We'd already agreed we both felt comfortable with trusted friends knowing more about what's been going on with us, but neither of us had actually taken the step of telling anyone else. Last week, Husband went to dinner with a guy he's known since college and came home to tell me that he'd shared about his sex addiction with this friend. I know they guy, too, and think highly of him, so I didn't have any anxiety and felt happy that Husband had the courage to talk openly about something so "real" with someone else in his life. I know it's not easy for him to move beyond pop culture and intellectual parrying to reveal himself. They didn't talk long, but the friend expressed his concern and support.
Over the weekend I told a very close girlfriend I'd been wanting to tell for some time. She'd moved away just a week after I found out, and has recently moved back. I'd felt a wall between us because we talk deeply and openly about so much, but there was this important part of my life I wasn't sharing. She knew that something had happened, because I'd asked for a therapist referral and she new Husband and I were in counseling. But I hadn't wanted to color her relationship with Husband because they are friends (for 12 years), too. And I didn't feel comfortable with her telling her husband, nor did I want to ask her to keep a secret from him. So I hadn't told her, despite the fact that she is someone I'd normally turn to for support. Last weekend as we sat in the park watching our kids play together the moment felt right. She was sad as she imagined what it must have been like, but like Husband's friend she was mostly just concerned and supportive of both of us. She called me today, and she's still processing it. "It's still new to me, but I'll catch up," she said.
It feels great to have finally told her. I feel more authentically connected with her again. And she's another person I can count on when I catch myself in my typical MO of trying to handle things all alone. With most of my friends it doesn't feel strange that they don't know about this very personal thing in my life so I probably wouldn't have any reason to tell them. But with her, it was strange to withhold the life-changing events that I've gone through.
We're not going to shout it from the roof tops (for example I'm NEVER going to tell my mother because that would not be helpful to me,) but I think the fact that Husband and I can talk more openly about this part of our lives without shame, anxiety or the need to blame, justify, vilify or otherwise explain is indicative of the healing that's taken place for both of us. It feels good to be in this place, to have some distance from the pain and see the progress more clearly.
Friday, August 28, 2009
Metaphors, puns and rambling out of the fog
My son was in tears the other day because he accidentally erased his profile on his Nintendo DS game Lego Battles. He explained to my mother, who couldn't understand the problem this presented, that it meant that everything he'd accomplished, done, overcome, figured out, and scored over the past month of playing this game was gone and he had to start over with a blank slate.
"Exactly!" I thought as I listened to his wailing.
My slate feels so blank sometimes, because I've gone from believing that there were a very few things that I could absolutely count on to believing that impermanence is possibly the only thing I can count on and that despite all indications there is no way to have any certainty about the future at all. This perspective, while feeling less delusional than past certainties, also sends me into a bit of an existential freak-out. It feels too big and scary and lonely for it to be just me and my higher power. I admit it: I want something to cling to. I want to know something for sure. "I want to be able to count on something," I told my therapist.
She gently suggested that the Buddhist perspective on this (because she knows I swing that way) might be along the lines of finding gratitude for the present moment, and I realized (again) that this is where peace is for me. Since I believe that impermanence is the only constant and the future is unknowable, peace has no other place to wait for me aside from the present moment. Little comfort as I sat in my therapist's office, but my brain could grasp it and begin to make sense of the world again. Okay, so as my mind swished down the toilet of past pain and fear about the future, I had forgotten about staying in the present. But now I was remembering again. The cold fingers of my dark confusion began to loosen their grip.
The bumper sticker I get out of this experience: There is nothing good at the bottom of the toilet.
I don't feel completely alone, actually. I have girlfriends whom I still believe I can count on to be who I think they are. But in my relationship I don't have that sense of security any more. I can count on Husband 99.9% when it comes to our son. But when it comes to me...when it comes to counting on him to take me into consideration when he does something...that's where I'm afraid. I believed in this 100% before and got burned.
I told my therapist that sometimes it feels like Husband is a hot stove that I'm afraid to touch again. As we talked I realized that my subconscious assumption has been that the stove would burn me again if I touched it. But my conscious mind doesn't think that. I'm not afraid that Husband would be able to betray me again the way he did before. I have training about stoves that I didn't have before! So it was a good opening for me to realize that I'm not trying to touch a hot stove again. I'm just trying to touch the stove to see what it feels like now, and I'm not reaching out unprotected. More importantly, I need to remind myself (again) what I realized more than a year ago: Because he's in recovery, Husband probably isn't a stove anymore.
I've been caught up (again) trying to make sense of things. (Perhaps this cycle of "agains" is something I just have to surrender to.) I want things to make sense. But the lying Husband did is something that will never make sense to me. How do you so deeply betray someone you love? I can fantasize about it, but when it comes down to it, I could never go through with it. I'd have to hate him in order to lie to him the way he did to me. That's how I'm built. And he is built differently. And now we're both working on our defective parts, rebuilding our engines. They will always be different engines, but hopefully they will work better than they did before and we'll be able to finish out this road trip together.
I think a lot of this circling back is because there's anger and resentment I haven't fully expressed and it's surfacing and that's a good thing. Those things are hard for me because I never learned about openly expressing those feelings as a child. But now's my chance.
My friend recently wrote on her blog about a palm tree outside her window that was cut down, and how it took only minutes to destroy something that had taken years to grow. I told Husband this is how I feel about our relationship, and why I think it's sometimes such a struggle. The tree that was my understanding of the world has been cut down and there's no putting it back. He nodded and put his arms around me.
Replant. Give water and light. (Perhaps some therapy and the love and support of friends.) Wait. And don't lose faith that a big tree can grow from a little nut.
Later I asked him if there was anything we needed to talk about from the arguments and discussions we'd had over the past few days. "I'm afraid to tell you this, because I don't want you to feel responsible for my feelings, but when you say you can't count on anything I feel terrible. I know that you can't know anything absolutely for sure, but I'm going to do my best to be someone you can count on for the rest of my life."
Just when I need it most, my higher power chimes in. I'm both surprised and not surprised at all.
"Exactly!" I thought as I listened to his wailing.
My slate feels so blank sometimes, because I've gone from believing that there were a very few things that I could absolutely count on to believing that impermanence is possibly the only thing I can count on and that despite all indications there is no way to have any certainty about the future at all. This perspective, while feeling less delusional than past certainties, also sends me into a bit of an existential freak-out. It feels too big and scary and lonely for it to be just me and my higher power. I admit it: I want something to cling to. I want to know something for sure. "I want to be able to count on something," I told my therapist.
She gently suggested that the Buddhist perspective on this (because she knows I swing that way) might be along the lines of finding gratitude for the present moment, and I realized (again) that this is where peace is for me. Since I believe that impermanence is the only constant and the future is unknowable, peace has no other place to wait for me aside from the present moment. Little comfort as I sat in my therapist's office, but my brain could grasp it and begin to make sense of the world again. Okay, so as my mind swished down the toilet of past pain and fear about the future, I had forgotten about staying in the present. But now I was remembering again. The cold fingers of my dark confusion began to loosen their grip.
The bumper sticker I get out of this experience: There is nothing good at the bottom of the toilet.
I don't feel completely alone, actually. I have girlfriends whom I still believe I can count on to be who I think they are. But in my relationship I don't have that sense of security any more. I can count on Husband 99.9% when it comes to our son. But when it comes to me...when it comes to counting on him to take me into consideration when he does something...that's where I'm afraid. I believed in this 100% before and got burned.
I told my therapist that sometimes it feels like Husband is a hot stove that I'm afraid to touch again. As we talked I realized that my subconscious assumption has been that the stove would burn me again if I touched it. But my conscious mind doesn't think that. I'm not afraid that Husband would be able to betray me again the way he did before. I have training about stoves that I didn't have before! So it was a good opening for me to realize that I'm not trying to touch a hot stove again. I'm just trying to touch the stove to see what it feels like now, and I'm not reaching out unprotected. More importantly, I need to remind myself (again) what I realized more than a year ago: Because he's in recovery, Husband probably isn't a stove anymore.
I've been caught up (again) trying to make sense of things. (Perhaps this cycle of "agains" is something I just have to surrender to.) I want things to make sense. But the lying Husband did is something that will never make sense to me. How do you so deeply betray someone you love? I can fantasize about it, but when it comes down to it, I could never go through with it. I'd have to hate him in order to lie to him the way he did to me. That's how I'm built. And he is built differently. And now we're both working on our defective parts, rebuilding our engines. They will always be different engines, but hopefully they will work better than they did before and we'll be able to finish out this road trip together.
I think a lot of this circling back is because there's anger and resentment I haven't fully expressed and it's surfacing and that's a good thing. Those things are hard for me because I never learned about openly expressing those feelings as a child. But now's my chance.
My friend recently wrote on her blog about a palm tree outside her window that was cut down, and how it took only minutes to destroy something that had taken years to grow. I told Husband this is how I feel about our relationship, and why I think it's sometimes such a struggle. The tree that was my understanding of the world has been cut down and there's no putting it back. He nodded and put his arms around me.
Replant. Give water and light. (Perhaps some therapy and the love and support of friends.) Wait. And don't lose faith that a big tree can grow from a little nut.
Later I asked him if there was anything we needed to talk about from the arguments and discussions we'd had over the past few days. "I'm afraid to tell you this, because I don't want you to feel responsible for my feelings, but when you say you can't count on anything I feel terrible. I know that you can't know anything absolutely for sure, but I'm going to do my best to be someone you can count on for the rest of my life."
Just when I need it most, my higher power chimes in. I'm both surprised and not surprised at all.
Tuesday, August 18, 2009
Stuck...again
After two years of gigantic personal growth spurts, newly discovered spirituality, and tons of therapy, it would seem like everything would be on the up and up, yes?
Well of course not! The whole "journey, not a destination" rigmarole seems to be proving true once again. (This is why it gets on mugs and magnets I suppose. They rival bumper stickers as a source for all of life's deepest truths.)
I've spent the last couple weeks caught in a downward spiral. I'm in one of those places where I'm finding it hard to feel anything, mostly where Husband is concerned.
Yesterday afternoon we snuck away together to see Julie & Julia. I watched with a little sadness because that's the relationship I thought we had in many ways - loving, connected and close but independent, respectful, supportive - and the relationship I thought I would have as we grew old together. (I'm sure I've idealized things, and that's something I need to keep in mind.) But now I have doubts I will ever feel that easy deep connection with him again, and that makes me very sad.
Husband does everything right. He has worked his 12-step program diligently since day one; he's gone to therapy; he ACTS differently; he's grown tremendously; and he's probably much more the man I thought I was married to than ever before. He's a different person than he was in 2007.
But despite all his work and all his progress (not to mention my own work and progress,) I have sunk into this low place where my relationship is concerned. I talked with my therapist about it, and she summed up our session saying that I seem to have two choices: Wait it out and let my openness to deep intimacy grow as Husband proves himself over time; or take the risk and jump in with my heart open as wide as possible. Both are fine choices she said.
I want to do the latter, because I think a risk like that with someone who has been in active recovery for 2 years is less of a risk than it feels. And I know peace will be more accessible if I can make the shifts within myself that make that kind of openness possible for me again. But I just don't seem to be able to push myself past some undefinable obstacle that has settled in. Sometimes I wonder if I love my husband. I think I do, I have a lot of good reasons to, but sometimes I can't feel it.
When I imagine being with someone else, I certainly don't get any rush of relief. Another man simply represents a different set of challenges and unknowns. There is no Prince Charming (if anything, I believe I'm the only one who can sweep me off my feet.) So I think something in me needs to shift. I think my current numbness has little to do with Husband, and mostly to do with another level of growth that is becoming available to me. I think the root of my funk has something to do with my inability to completely surrender to the bottom line that life is ultimately beyond my control. My Good People/Bad People buckets can't protect me from being hurt and betrayed.
And Husband and I are DIFFERENT. (Something I forget again and again.) But that doesn't make him dangerous (I also forget this.) It just feels that way. Not that I'm absolved from taking care of my own well-being first and foremost. But he can tick differently from me and not be dangerous as long as he's not slipping into delusion, denial and grandiosity. And how do I know that's not happening? Only by his actions - only by the fact that he's working his program, going to meetings, apologizing when he's an asshole, doing things differently from how he used to when he was an unconscious narcissistic addict and I was an unconscious codie.
It does feel like a bit of a tightrope to navigate, but I think any high-stakes situation is going to feel like that.
I met with my step-buddy (I'm still working on writing up my 1st step) and she reminded me that the ups and downs I'm feeling are the landscape of a long-term relationship. I am an absolutist through and through, and another thing I always, ALWAYS forget is that this moment is not how it will be forever.
This too shall pass.
Well of course not! The whole "journey, not a destination" rigmarole seems to be proving true once again. (This is why it gets on mugs and magnets I suppose. They rival bumper stickers as a source for all of life's deepest truths.)
I've spent the last couple weeks caught in a downward spiral. I'm in one of those places where I'm finding it hard to feel anything, mostly where Husband is concerned.
Yesterday afternoon we snuck away together to see Julie & Julia. I watched with a little sadness because that's the relationship I thought we had in many ways - loving, connected and close but independent, respectful, supportive - and the relationship I thought I would have as we grew old together. (I'm sure I've idealized things, and that's something I need to keep in mind.) But now I have doubts I will ever feel that easy deep connection with him again, and that makes me very sad.
Husband does everything right. He has worked his 12-step program diligently since day one; he's gone to therapy; he ACTS differently; he's grown tremendously; and he's probably much more the man I thought I was married to than ever before. He's a different person than he was in 2007.
But despite all his work and all his progress (not to mention my own work and progress,) I have sunk into this low place where my relationship is concerned. I talked with my therapist about it, and she summed up our session saying that I seem to have two choices: Wait it out and let my openness to deep intimacy grow as Husband proves himself over time; or take the risk and jump in with my heart open as wide as possible. Both are fine choices she said.
I want to do the latter, because I think a risk like that with someone who has been in active recovery for 2 years is less of a risk than it feels. And I know peace will be more accessible if I can make the shifts within myself that make that kind of openness possible for me again. But I just don't seem to be able to push myself past some undefinable obstacle that has settled in. Sometimes I wonder if I love my husband. I think I do, I have a lot of good reasons to, but sometimes I can't feel it.
When I imagine being with someone else, I certainly don't get any rush of relief. Another man simply represents a different set of challenges and unknowns. There is no Prince Charming (if anything, I believe I'm the only one who can sweep me off my feet.) So I think something in me needs to shift. I think my current numbness has little to do with Husband, and mostly to do with another level of growth that is becoming available to me. I think the root of my funk has something to do with my inability to completely surrender to the bottom line that life is ultimately beyond my control. My Good People/Bad People buckets can't protect me from being hurt and betrayed.
And Husband and I are DIFFERENT. (Something I forget again and again.) But that doesn't make him dangerous (I also forget this.) It just feels that way. Not that I'm absolved from taking care of my own well-being first and foremost. But he can tick differently from me and not be dangerous as long as he's not slipping into delusion, denial and grandiosity. And how do I know that's not happening? Only by his actions - only by the fact that he's working his program, going to meetings, apologizing when he's an asshole, doing things differently from how he used to when he was an unconscious narcissistic addict and I was an unconscious codie.
It does feel like a bit of a tightrope to navigate, but I think any high-stakes situation is going to feel like that.
I met with my step-buddy (I'm still working on writing up my 1st step) and she reminded me that the ups and downs I'm feeling are the landscape of a long-term relationship. I am an absolutist through and through, and another thing I always, ALWAYS forget is that this moment is not how it will be forever.
This too shall pass.
Thursday, August 13, 2009
Forgive but can't forget?
A good article: http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/32387125/ns/today-today_relationships/
I've been struggling with this issue of getting past the past lately. Don't know why it's coming up now, more than two years out. But healing from sex addiction and betrayal has its own timeline, and while I can work hard, and I can watch Husband working hard, I've learned I can't put a date on when I'll be "healed."
I've been struggling with this issue of getting past the past lately. Don't know why it's coming up now, more than two years out. But healing from sex addiction and betrayal has its own timeline, and while I can work hard, and I can watch Husband working hard, I've learned I can't put a date on when I'll be "healed."
Tuesday, May 12, 2009
Finding love in loss
The Buddhist Reviews Tricycle Magazine publishes a "Daily Dharma" email that excerpts writings on Buddhism.
Today's edition about finding love in loss, from Lorne Ladner's book The Lost Art of Compassion, so aptly described what this journey has been for me:
"To live a meaningful life, each of us must step outside the familiar, confining walls of ego defenses and enter our own wilderness, our own charnel ground, to face honestly the truth of impermanence and loss. In the strange cemetery of imagination, mourning ourselves, we suddenly stumble upon what’s most essential. Facing loss, we find love."
Over the past 2 years I've found greater love and compassion for myself and others, beyond what I knew to be possible.
I still get scared, pissed off, resentful, etc. There's no doubt that I'll always be human, and that the logical effect of impermanence is that "good" is as temporary as "bad."
But in order to survive the loss of the life I thought I was living, I've been pushed into new territory and tasted the sweetness of a deeper love than I've ever known before, which has made possible a deeper and more profound peace.
Today's edition about finding love in loss, from Lorne Ladner's book The Lost Art of Compassion, so aptly described what this journey has been for me:
"To live a meaningful life, each of us must step outside the familiar, confining walls of ego defenses and enter our own wilderness, our own charnel ground, to face honestly the truth of impermanence and loss. In the strange cemetery of imagination, mourning ourselves, we suddenly stumble upon what’s most essential. Facing loss, we find love."
Over the past 2 years I've found greater love and compassion for myself and others, beyond what I knew to be possible.
I still get scared, pissed off, resentful, etc. There's no doubt that I'll always be human, and that the logical effect of impermanence is that "good" is as temporary as "bad."
But in order to survive the loss of the life I thought I was living, I've been pushed into new territory and tasted the sweetness of a deeper love than I've ever known before, which has made possible a deeper and more profound peace.
Friday, February 20, 2009
P.S.
Went out to the treadmill and found myself reading Eckhart Tolle's chapters on ego from A New Earth. That gave me a more empowered perspective. I still have questions, but I also have some clarity.
Further proof that my higher power will do for me what I cannot do for myself.
Further proof that my higher power will do for me what I cannot do for myself.
Thursday, February 5, 2009
Remembered hurts
Close to two years now and I'm not sure that a day goes by without me having at least one thought about what Husband did.
Usually it doesn't really trigger me anymore, which is a sign of the progress I've made. But sometimes I get sad and start to feel distant, which is what has been happening lately.
GentlePath wrote today that "There’s a point where a remembered hurt can develop into a resentment — or it can morph into a springboard for learning and change."
I'm grateful to her for reminding me about the choice I face. Because I'm the path I'm on is one of growing, learning and change, and in this moment I am re-presenced to that.
Taking the next right action, one day (one moment) at a time.
Usually it doesn't really trigger me anymore, which is a sign of the progress I've made. But sometimes I get sad and start to feel distant, which is what has been happening lately.
GentlePath wrote today that "There’s a point where a remembered hurt can develop into a resentment — or it can morph into a springboard for learning and change."
I'm grateful to her for reminding me about the choice I face. Because I'm the path I'm on is one of growing, learning and change, and in this moment I am re-presenced to that.
Taking the next right action, one day (one moment) at a time.
Wednesday, February 4, 2009
The healing power of good art
I haven't seen Benjamin Button yet, but a friend sent me this quote which resonated so strongly with me. It's like a prayer I can say to myself.
“It’s never too late, or in my case too early, to be whoever you want to be.
There’s no limit.
Start whenever you want.
You can change or stay the same.
There are no rules to this thing.
We can make the best or the worst of it.
I hope you make the best of it.
I hope you see things that startle you.
I hope you feel things you never felt before.
I hope you meet people who have a different point of view.
I hope you live a life you’re proud of, and if you’re not, I hope you have the courage to start all over again”
- Eric Roth, from the screenplay “THE CURIOUS CASE OF BENJAMIN BUTTON”
“It’s never too late, or in my case too early, to be whoever you want to be.
There’s no limit.
Start whenever you want.
You can change or stay the same.
There are no rules to this thing.
We can make the best or the worst of it.
I hope you make the best of it.
I hope you see things that startle you.
I hope you feel things you never felt before.
I hope you meet people who have a different point of view.
I hope you live a life you’re proud of, and if you’re not, I hope you have the courage to start all over again”
- Eric Roth, from the screenplay “THE CURIOUS CASE OF BENJAMIN BUTTON”
Tuesday, January 20, 2009
Walking off a cliff
This past weekend I took a workshop about developing and performing solo work. I was terrified, so I knew I must be heading in the right direction.
After the first meeting on Friday I almost pulled out, full of that nagging fear that I have nothing to say, nothing to offer. But over and over again I brought myself back the new mandate I've given myself: Give my gifts and celebrate what has been accomplished.
And as it turns out, once again, I'm glad I didn't run away from the fear as my body so wanted to do. Once again, I got so much out of staying.
Over the course of the weekend I developed this piece, which I performed last night for a small audience in a tiny theater:
The Perfect Gift
Gifts have been an issue for my husband and me since early in our relationship.
We met in Seattle in 1988 doing fringe theater. He was sharing a room in a crack house with 3 other guys (not crack addicts, just alcoholics) and working at a popcorn stand under the monorail. Future husband material, right?
But smart, funny and creative are my drugs of choice when it comes to men and he was all of those things.
The $70 a week he made selling popcorn supported his life as one of the founders of a small theater. This theater was started by a group of old friends just out of college. It was a labor of love and produced astounding original work fueled by the arrogance of youth, pitchers of beer, sex and cigarettes.
Probably the first gift he gave me, though I didn't recognize it at the time, was teaching me improv. In improv you make it up as you go. You get a location, you say yes, you define the space, define your characters – high status, low status - you give your partner gifts, you give up control. If you have faith in the process, you can create great art. Or at least, funny art. Or you can suck.
It was in those rehearsals that I learned to walk off a cliff. Sometimes I'd fly, sometimes I'd crash an burn. But I learned about living in the present moment and trusting that even though you don't know what's going to happen... something's going to happen. And that no matter what, after that, good or bad, there's a new moment and a new possibility.
Life in Seattle was good. It was a fertile time. Nirvana was playing all ages shows around town. Microsoft and Starbucks were heating up. And Seattle was a theater town. Regional theater, Fringe Theater, children's theater, theater in the park. A lot of theater. It was also a great city for food, and Husband and I discovered Thai food. We loved it all, from the authentic but pricey place on Capital Hill to the cheap place in the U District that used ketchup for their Pad Thai sauce.
Husband prided himself on his cooking. Although looking back the only thing I remember him cooking is spaghetti sauce. But I was smitten and really didn’t notice that he wasn’t exactly a prolific chef. So that Christmas I got him a gift I was sure he’d love - Tommy Tang's Modern Thai Cuisine Cookbook. Perfect, right?
Well, he hated it. In fact, he was offended. Somehow it (and I) had failed to meet his expectations. I was crushed. After that, giving him gifts got hard because there was always that underlying anxiety of getting the wrong thing. But we made it through that little bit of pain and kept going.
Nothing major happened in the gift area for several years until one Christmas. That was the year he couldn't wait and gave me my present early. He got down on his knees at the end of our bed, totally naked, and proposed. I was filled with love. The ring was beautiful. I said yes. That was a good gift.
After we'd been married for about 4 years he asked me if I wanted kids.
“Yes, but I don't think I'm ready yet”
“Sometimes it takes a long time. So maybe we should start trying. Just in case.”
“Okay.”
That sounded reasonable.
Nine months later we got the best gift we'd ever given each other: Our son.
I remember that feeling – coming home from the hospital with stitches in my gut and a prescription for Vicodin thinking, “Please! Don’t send us home! We have no idea what we’re doing!” But nope. They pack you up, wave goodbye, and then your in your car and on your own. But as it turns out, for the first few months the baby mostly eats, sleeps and poops, so it’s not a complex as you’d think it would be.
So, very little expertise, and not much sleep either, but once again we made it through.
Having a kid is one of the hardest thing I’ve ever done. But it’s also the best thing I’ve ever done. It’s a really good gift.
The first Christmas after Son was born all the presents Husband had bought got stolen out of the trunk of our car, including a huge basket of fancy beauty products from Kehil’s. So he went back to Kehil’s to get more presents and ended up telling them the story of his stolen gifts. A charming guy with a good story, right? The manager disappeared for a moment and returned with a basket full of shampoos and soaps and lotions and scrubs – for free! So now, we’re Kehil’s customers for life. That’s a good gift!
My recent attempts, however, have proved only moderately successful. The $400 iPod that he lost almost immediately. The beautiful watch I got him for our 10th anniversary that got left at the gym. Somehow I feel like I’ve missed the mark. I still haven’t found the Perfect Gift that he loves and treasures.
On June 1, 2007, I found out that my husband of almost a decade, the love of my life for close to 20 years had been keeping a secret – leading a double life of sorts. The person I knew and trusted more than anyone else in the world had been hiding things from me since before we were married. In an instant, my very best friend, my partner, my lover...died and I found myself in an intimate relationship with a stranger.
Now at this point I know at least some of you are wondering, “What was the secret? What did he do?” And I’m gonna tell you that it’s irrelevant, because it’s not about him. It’s about me.
So what do you do when the world as you know it falls away and there is no ground on which to stand? Not even a branch or vine to grab on to and you feel so raw, like your skin has just been seared off with a blow torch?
I wanted to do what I’d done when I was 12 and my dad went camping and never came back. His note claimed that he was leaving the country to seek experimental treatments for some disease. Five months later we found him in a hippie commune trying to "find himself."
I wanted to do what I’d done then. To shut him out. To swear off trust. To swear off needing anyone else ever again.
But, there was the matter of that earlier gift he’d given me. So it wasn’t just about me and my pain. I had a son to raise. I didn’t want to just walk away. I wanted to stay – in the midst of fear and groundlessness –to see if I could still give my little boy this family we’d started together.
It’s been almost two years now, and during that time I’ve learned a lot about myself. I’ve made my husband responsible for my happiness. I’ve trusted what he thought and said over my own better judgment and intuition. I draw with a Sharpie instead of a pencil. So...no room for mistakes. And I’m so afraid of conflict because of what it might mean about me that I immediately invalidate, fix and change without listening. Great wife material,right?
Staying with the pain and discomfort of betrayal, not running, not distracting myself, (though I have to admit I went through a lot of single malt scotch in those first few months) I’ve discovered that I CAN take care of myself. Not as a stop-gap until I find someone else to do it. Not as a defense. But as a way to be awake and conscious in my life.
I can make the choices and decisions I used to leave to others. I can move forward on my path even in the face of the scariest shadow of all – the unknown.
And so, 20 years later, my husband and I find ourselves doing improv together again. Trying to be in the present moment, to let go of past mistakes and create a new relationship without any idea of what the future might be. It’s a pretty big cliff and it’s definitely frightening. But he’s working hard, I’m working hard, and we make it up as we go.
I read a quote recently. It said, "only to the extent to which we expose ourselves over and over to annihilation can that which is indestructible be found in us."
That is the gift my husband has given me. And it’s a really good gift.
After the first meeting on Friday I almost pulled out, full of that nagging fear that I have nothing to say, nothing to offer. But over and over again I brought myself back the new mandate I've given myself: Give my gifts and celebrate what has been accomplished.
And as it turns out, once again, I'm glad I didn't run away from the fear as my body so wanted to do. Once again, I got so much out of staying.
Over the course of the weekend I developed this piece, which I performed last night for a small audience in a tiny theater:
The Perfect Gift
Gifts have been an issue for my husband and me since early in our relationship.
We met in Seattle in 1988 doing fringe theater. He was sharing a room in a crack house with 3 other guys (not crack addicts, just alcoholics) and working at a popcorn stand under the monorail. Future husband material, right?
But smart, funny and creative are my drugs of choice when it comes to men and he was all of those things.
The $70 a week he made selling popcorn supported his life as one of the founders of a small theater. This theater was started by a group of old friends just out of college. It was a labor of love and produced astounding original work fueled by the arrogance of youth, pitchers of beer, sex and cigarettes.
Probably the first gift he gave me, though I didn't recognize it at the time, was teaching me improv. In improv you make it up as you go. You get a location, you say yes, you define the space, define your characters – high status, low status - you give your partner gifts, you give up control. If you have faith in the process, you can create great art. Or at least, funny art. Or you can suck.
It was in those rehearsals that I learned to walk off a cliff. Sometimes I'd fly, sometimes I'd crash an burn. But I learned about living in the present moment and trusting that even though you don't know what's going to happen... something's going to happen. And that no matter what, after that, good or bad, there's a new moment and a new possibility.
Life in Seattle was good. It was a fertile time. Nirvana was playing all ages shows around town. Microsoft and Starbucks were heating up. And Seattle was a theater town. Regional theater, Fringe Theater, children's theater, theater in the park. A lot of theater. It was also a great city for food, and Husband and I discovered Thai food. We loved it all, from the authentic but pricey place on Capital Hill to the cheap place in the U District that used ketchup for their Pad Thai sauce.
Husband prided himself on his cooking. Although looking back the only thing I remember him cooking is spaghetti sauce. But I was smitten and really didn’t notice that he wasn’t exactly a prolific chef. So that Christmas I got him a gift I was sure he’d love - Tommy Tang's Modern Thai Cuisine Cookbook. Perfect, right?
Well, he hated it. In fact, he was offended. Somehow it (and I) had failed to meet his expectations. I was crushed. After that, giving him gifts got hard because there was always that underlying anxiety of getting the wrong thing. But we made it through that little bit of pain and kept going.
Nothing major happened in the gift area for several years until one Christmas. That was the year he couldn't wait and gave me my present early. He got down on his knees at the end of our bed, totally naked, and proposed. I was filled with love. The ring was beautiful. I said yes. That was a good gift.
After we'd been married for about 4 years he asked me if I wanted kids.
“Yes, but I don't think I'm ready yet”
“Sometimes it takes a long time. So maybe we should start trying. Just in case.”
“Okay.”
That sounded reasonable.
Nine months later we got the best gift we'd ever given each other: Our son.
I remember that feeling – coming home from the hospital with stitches in my gut and a prescription for Vicodin thinking, “Please! Don’t send us home! We have no idea what we’re doing!” But nope. They pack you up, wave goodbye, and then your in your car and on your own. But as it turns out, for the first few months the baby mostly eats, sleeps and poops, so it’s not a complex as you’d think it would be.
So, very little expertise, and not much sleep either, but once again we made it through.
Having a kid is one of the hardest thing I’ve ever done. But it’s also the best thing I’ve ever done. It’s a really good gift.
The first Christmas after Son was born all the presents Husband had bought got stolen out of the trunk of our car, including a huge basket of fancy beauty products from Kehil’s. So he went back to Kehil’s to get more presents and ended up telling them the story of his stolen gifts. A charming guy with a good story, right? The manager disappeared for a moment and returned with a basket full of shampoos and soaps and lotions and scrubs – for free! So now, we’re Kehil’s customers for life. That’s a good gift!
My recent attempts, however, have proved only moderately successful. The $400 iPod that he lost almost immediately. The beautiful watch I got him for our 10th anniversary that got left at the gym. Somehow I feel like I’ve missed the mark. I still haven’t found the Perfect Gift that he loves and treasures.
On June 1, 2007, I found out that my husband of almost a decade, the love of my life for close to 20 years had been keeping a secret – leading a double life of sorts. The person I knew and trusted more than anyone else in the world had been hiding things from me since before we were married. In an instant, my very best friend, my partner, my lover...died and I found myself in an intimate relationship with a stranger.
Now at this point I know at least some of you are wondering, “What was the secret? What did he do?” And I’m gonna tell you that it’s irrelevant, because it’s not about him. It’s about me.
So what do you do when the world as you know it falls away and there is no ground on which to stand? Not even a branch or vine to grab on to and you feel so raw, like your skin has just been seared off with a blow torch?
I wanted to do what I’d done when I was 12 and my dad went camping and never came back. His note claimed that he was leaving the country to seek experimental treatments for some disease. Five months later we found him in a hippie commune trying to "find himself."
I wanted to do what I’d done then. To shut him out. To swear off trust. To swear off needing anyone else ever again.
But, there was the matter of that earlier gift he’d given me. So it wasn’t just about me and my pain. I had a son to raise. I didn’t want to just walk away. I wanted to stay – in the midst of fear and groundlessness –to see if I could still give my little boy this family we’d started together.
It’s been almost two years now, and during that time I’ve learned a lot about myself. I’ve made my husband responsible for my happiness. I’ve trusted what he thought and said over my own better judgment and intuition. I draw with a Sharpie instead of a pencil. So...no room for mistakes. And I’m so afraid of conflict because of what it might mean about me that I immediately invalidate, fix and change without listening. Great wife material,right?
Staying with the pain and discomfort of betrayal, not running, not distracting myself, (though I have to admit I went through a lot of single malt scotch in those first few months) I’ve discovered that I CAN take care of myself. Not as a stop-gap until I find someone else to do it. Not as a defense. But as a way to be awake and conscious in my life.
I can make the choices and decisions I used to leave to others. I can move forward on my path even in the face of the scariest shadow of all – the unknown.
And so, 20 years later, my husband and I find ourselves doing improv together again. Trying to be in the present moment, to let go of past mistakes and create a new relationship without any idea of what the future might be. It’s a pretty big cliff and it’s definitely frightening. But he’s working hard, I’m working hard, and we make it up as we go.
I read a quote recently. It said, "only to the extent to which we expose ourselves over and over to annihilation can that which is indestructible be found in us."
That is the gift my husband has given me. And it’s a really good gift.
Tuesday, November 18, 2008
I've started going to church
It's a surprising development, considering my skepticism. But more than anything else, this has been a spiritual journey for me. Who woulda thought? Certainly not me.
One of the things I've realized through all the reading I've been doing (mostly Buddhism) and through participating in the S-Anon 12 step program is that spirituality has been missing from my life. I've always had to have every answer, to be completely self sufficient. My ability to figure out things, to anticipate and solve problems has been one of my most successful tools for survival. Even now, there is a part of me that has fingers on the buttons that will hermetically seal me off in a Bat-Mobile of self sufficiency.
But now I also see another possibility.
A few days ago I was exploring my resistance to forgiving Husband. I realized that the obstacle was my fear of being hurt again, and that I was resisting my powerlessness in this area.
Refusing to forgive, holding on to just a tiny bit of the past, feels like power...like a safeguard against being vulnerable. Holding onto the distrust is my way of reminding myself not to let betrayal happen again. (There's that resistance to powerlessness!)
I realized that what there is to surrender, what I'm being given the opportunity to wake up to, is that whether or not I'm hurt or betrayed again is beyond my control, and in fact quite likely to happen again. Not something I really want to surrender to, but there it is.
I thought about what would happen if I were betrayed so deeply again, if I ever again felt such deep and raw pain. What would happen if the world as I know it proves profoundly false, lets me down, doesn't meet my expectations / fantasies once again?
The answer that came was that I'd have to face that unbearable pain and surreal disorientation. And that I'd have only myself and the community I've created to support me to help me get through it.
That answer surprised me.
I've never felt community before, let alone thought about getting support from any kind of community. Mostly I've seen myself as very isolated and alone, with the few bright exceptions of 3 or 4 very close friends. I'm the one who helps others, not the recipient of help.
What I've come to realize is that community is there if I open up to it. I've learned that I don't have to have the answers. I don't have to always be the one holding it all together, handling everything when others can't. I can be human, I can be lost, I can be wrong and fallible without becoming unforgivable, I can have messy, even irrational feelings. And when those things happen, there can be a community of people there to hold me, nurture me, hear me, comfort me, and lift me up.
I don't have to do it alone.
As an only child of very young parents, I think I learned a lot about self-sufficiency. And growing up in a family where "bad" feelings were immediately squelched out with love or the withholding of love, where anger was frosty and tight lipped and a lot of communication was indirect, I learned how to deal with things internally instead of reaching out. But now that I'm an adult can I see other options. And acknowledging a power other than myself, a god of my understanding, even if I don't have a clear definition for what that is, seems to turn out better for me than trying to hold it all together alone.
Surrendering to the unknown, embracing the impermanence of life, facing that moment by moment without taking refuge in my intellect, cynicism and skepticism...that is a spiritual experience.
One of the things I've realized through all the reading I've been doing (mostly Buddhism) and through participating in the S-Anon 12 step program is that spirituality has been missing from my life. I've always had to have every answer, to be completely self sufficient. My ability to figure out things, to anticipate and solve problems has been one of my most successful tools for survival. Even now, there is a part of me that has fingers on the buttons that will hermetically seal me off in a Bat-Mobile of self sufficiency.
But now I also see another possibility.
A few days ago I was exploring my resistance to forgiving Husband. I realized that the obstacle was my fear of being hurt again, and that I was resisting my powerlessness in this area.
Refusing to forgive, holding on to just a tiny bit of the past, feels like power...like a safeguard against being vulnerable. Holding onto the distrust is my way of reminding myself not to let betrayal happen again. (There's that resistance to powerlessness!)
I realized that what there is to surrender, what I'm being given the opportunity to wake up to, is that whether or not I'm hurt or betrayed again is beyond my control, and in fact quite likely to happen again. Not something I really want to surrender to, but there it is.
I thought about what would happen if I were betrayed so deeply again, if I ever again felt such deep and raw pain. What would happen if the world as I know it proves profoundly false, lets me down, doesn't meet my expectations / fantasies once again?
The answer that came was that I'd have to face that unbearable pain and surreal disorientation. And that I'd have only myself and the community I've created to support me to help me get through it.
That answer surprised me.
I've never felt community before, let alone thought about getting support from any kind of community. Mostly I've seen myself as very isolated and alone, with the few bright exceptions of 3 or 4 very close friends. I'm the one who helps others, not the recipient of help.
What I've come to realize is that community is there if I open up to it. I've learned that I don't have to have the answers. I don't have to always be the one holding it all together, handling everything when others can't. I can be human, I can be lost, I can be wrong and fallible without becoming unforgivable, I can have messy, even irrational feelings. And when those things happen, there can be a community of people there to hold me, nurture me, hear me, comfort me, and lift me up.
I don't have to do it alone.
As an only child of very young parents, I think I learned a lot about self-sufficiency. And growing up in a family where "bad" feelings were immediately squelched out with love or the withholding of love, where anger was frosty and tight lipped and a lot of communication was indirect, I learned how to deal with things internally instead of reaching out. But now that I'm an adult can I see other options. And acknowledging a power other than myself, a god of my understanding, even if I don't have a clear definition for what that is, seems to turn out better for me than trying to hold it all together alone.
Surrendering to the unknown, embracing the impermanence of life, facing that moment by moment without taking refuge in my intellect, cynicism and skepticism...that is a spiritual experience.
Friday, August 29, 2008
Thoughts about true love
I'm beginning to understand that despite the lies and infidelity, love has always been present in my relationship with Husband. It just didn't look the way I thought it would. I wish I could change that, but I can't. Love is not perfect because Husband and I are not perfect, because we are human. But it is there. And for my growing ability to trust that, I'm grateful.
Friday, August 8, 2008
Images in my head obstruct intimacy
Last night Husband and I were making love, and I couldn't get certain thoughts and images out of my head. I opened my eyes, and kept my gaze fixed on him, my eyes on his eyes, and still I could not feel a connection. The images and the fear they brought up were pulling me out of the moment and I couldn't stop it.
Thinking about it this morning, I felt a deep sadness at not being able to connect with him. Sometimes my lack of ability to connect is worse than others, but it's always sad because Husband used to be the person I felt most deeply connected to.
I got up earlier than I expected to this morning, and so had time to jump on the treadmill for half an hour and do some reading.
Finishing an article I'd printed out from Buddhadarma, The Wondrous Path of Difficulties, I came across exactly what would be helpful to me right now.
Jack Kornfield talked about making a human connection. "There has to be a willingness to go to the place of vulnerability...we have difficulty making a human connection because we don't trust our heart. We don't trust that our heart has the capacity to open to the sorrows as well as to the beauty of the world...We have within us buddhanature, the capacity to hold all the sorrows and joys of the world."
He described not being reactive to others as "being present with a lot of courage," and quoted Martin Luther King. "King said to his adversaries, "We will wear you down by our capacity to suffer, to face suffering and still not stop, still march, still tell the truth, still do what's necessary to make the change.""
Fear is my adversary. Perhaps I can wear it down by expanding my capacity to face suffering and pain.
I can practice expanding my capacity to be open to suffering and sorrow, as well as to joy and happiness; not to resist those things, not to react to the fear I feel in the face of those things; but to take a deep breath and turn toward those things with open arms as I would welcome a beloved friend or a beautiful day. And on that path I'll find intimacy with Husband. That practice of being open to pain and fear will allow me closer to that which has been the source of pain and fear, but also the source of happiness and joy.
My instinct is to run from pain and fear, but maybe to run from that is to run from life. To cut off pain and fear, maybe I also have to cut off joy and intimacy, and that's not the path I choose. To have the quarter, I must take the heads with the tails. There is no tails without heads. So maybe life is joy and sorrow, happiness and pain, and there is not one without the other.
Not a new discovery for me, but one I must think about and practice daily or it will disappear and survival instincts will take over.
I think survival is about protecting yourself (an instinct), and living is about making yourself vulnerable (a practice), and those two things, safety and risk, seem to go against each other. Perhaps this is why it's just a one-day-at-a-time thing, moment by moment giving up instinct for practice.
Thinking about it this morning, I felt a deep sadness at not being able to connect with him. Sometimes my lack of ability to connect is worse than others, but it's always sad because Husband used to be the person I felt most deeply connected to.
I got up earlier than I expected to this morning, and so had time to jump on the treadmill for half an hour and do some reading.
Finishing an article I'd printed out from Buddhadarma, The Wondrous Path of Difficulties, I came across exactly what would be helpful to me right now.
Jack Kornfield talked about making a human connection. "There has to be a willingness to go to the place of vulnerability...we have difficulty making a human connection because we don't trust our heart. We don't trust that our heart has the capacity to open to the sorrows as well as to the beauty of the world...We have within us buddhanature, the capacity to hold all the sorrows and joys of the world."
He described not being reactive to others as "being present with a lot of courage," and quoted Martin Luther King. "King said to his adversaries, "We will wear you down by our capacity to suffer, to face suffering and still not stop, still march, still tell the truth, still do what's necessary to make the change.""
Fear is my adversary. Perhaps I can wear it down by expanding my capacity to face suffering and pain.
I can practice expanding my capacity to be open to suffering and sorrow, as well as to joy and happiness; not to resist those things, not to react to the fear I feel in the face of those things; but to take a deep breath and turn toward those things with open arms as I would welcome a beloved friend or a beautiful day. And on that path I'll find intimacy with Husband. That practice of being open to pain and fear will allow me closer to that which has been the source of pain and fear, but also the source of happiness and joy.
My instinct is to run from pain and fear, but maybe to run from that is to run from life. To cut off pain and fear, maybe I also have to cut off joy and intimacy, and that's not the path I choose. To have the quarter, I must take the heads with the tails. There is no tails without heads. So maybe life is joy and sorrow, happiness and pain, and there is not one without the other.
Not a new discovery for me, but one I must think about and practice daily or it will disappear and survival instincts will take over.
I think survival is about protecting yourself (an instinct), and living is about making yourself vulnerable (a practice), and those two things, safety and risk, seem to go against each other. Perhaps this is why it's just a one-day-at-a-time thing, moment by moment giving up instinct for practice.
Sunday, June 22, 2008
Here come the brides
It's that time of year, and we had a wedding to attend this weekend. Two old friends of ours. The wedding was simple, the vows beautiful, and the whole experience much less painful for me than weddings last year at this time.
As I listened to the vows about passing through doubt and disappointment and stepping into the light of faith, I thought about how much that is part of what it takes to make it for the long haul. When they said to each other, "I place my trust in you and I give you my heart..." I wondered what that meant to them, and how it would play out over the coming years.
Weddings still bring up a lot of questions, but fortunately not so much pain. More signs of healing and recovery.
As I listened to the vows about passing through doubt and disappointment and stepping into the light of faith, I thought about how much that is part of what it takes to make it for the long haul. When they said to each other, "I place my trust in you and I give you my heart..." I wondered what that meant to them, and how it would play out over the coming years.
Weddings still bring up a lot of questions, but fortunately not so much pain. More signs of healing and recovery.
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