I am enough

My story is a familiar one.  Daddy issues.  The one that was supposed to love me unconditionally never seemed to be at all interested.  That missing relationship always made me feel like I was somehow lacking, so I went looking for acceptance in all the wrong places.

My two year high school relationship ended with me pushing him away before he could reject me.  He had had gone off to college, so it was just a matter of time, right?

The next few years were spent  having sex with any boy that was willing to look my way.  I was desperately seeking approval, wanting someone to tell me that I was good enough.  

If they wanted me for sex, then I was good enough, right?  

I just want to go back and hug my 18 year old self.  She was a poor lost thing.  

You can imagine, then, why I spent the majority of the early years of my marriage waiting for the other shoe to drop.  Why me?  What does he see in me?  Why would he stay with me?  

I saw no signs at all that he was ever interested in anyone else.  It was baffling.  What is wrong with this man?  Can't he see that I'm nothing, not worthy? 

How can you have a happy marriage when one person feels that way?  I never understood the toll it took on our relationship.  I kept him at arms' length.  I didn't want to be surprised when it all fell to pieces.  

This is the foundation that was always missing.

And then, after more than 10 years with him, somehow I was.  

I was seared by the pain of his acts, but I was also crushed by the confirmation that I was not enough.  

This is why couples' counseling was such a joke.  How could I be a part of a whole when I was convinced that I was nothing?  1 + 0 will never equal 2.

The problem was not that he didn't love me.  The problem was that I didn't love me.  

I'm not a religious person.  I don't go to church.  So, when it was recommended that I read a book called The Gospel According to Jesus, I balked a bit.  It was not at all what I thought it was going to be, though, and I have to share a relevant passage here:

When you know how to “be with” yourself, it is not so difficult to “be with” another. However, if your life is a flight from self, how can you expect any relationship to be grounded? It just is not possible. All you have are a clash of wings in a crowded sky... 

Do not seek outside yourself for happiness in a time of great trauma. What you catch in the net of your seeking will be more than you bargained for. Your own pain is enough to work on. Don’t exacerbate it by taking on another’s suffering. If you want to dance with another, root yourself first. Learn to hear your own guidance. Dialogue with the hurt child and the divine host within. Practice forgiveness and compassion for yourself. Be with your experience and learn from it. Stay in the rhythm of your life... 

If you do not know how to take care of yourself, and if you are not willing to do so, nobody else will take care of you. Your lack of love and commitment to yourself attracts people with similar lessons into your vibrational field. Then you will simply mirror back to each other that lack of self-understanding and self-commitment. Commitment to another is impossible without commitment first to self. This is important. Those who try to act in a selfless way are putting the cart before the horse. Embrace the self first and then you can go beyond it. What I am suggesting is not selfishness. It is the ultimate surrender to the divine within. The beloved comes into being with the commitment to self.  S/He manifests outwardly as soon as that commitment is trustworthy. Then the outer commitment and the inner one go together. In worshipping the beloved, one worships the divine Self that lives in many bodies. This is sacred relationship. Few meet the beloved in this life, for few have learned to honor themselves and heal from the inside out.   

 ~Paul Ferrini, The Gospel According to Jesus

Powerful stuff, eh?  The book is full of powerful insights, no matter what your religious beliefs.  

With that began my journey to heal myself, to love myself.

Did I cause my husband to go off and have sex with someone else?  Absolutely not. That was his own reckless, idiotic, self-destructive choice.  

Did I bear responsibility for the state that our marriage was in at the time?  Yes.  Our relationship was not happy or healthy, and I had to have known that on some level. 

As much as I would've liked to have blamed myself for his infidelity, it didn’t have anything to do with me.  The stuff going on in his head at the time, the place he was in... that was his mess.  He was the one that fucked up.  He could've made different choices.  He didn’t do anything to me or because of me.  He did something to himself, and the doing of it was painful for me.  But the choices, the feelings, the emotions, the actions…all of those were his.  

None of it was mine.

But... there was so much that he didn't understand.  

He never knew I had an inner voice that cut like a knife, a voice that I used to tell myself in a thousand different ways that I wasn’t good enough.  

He thought I was confident and self-assured.  

How could he not see what an insecure wreck I had always been? 

He never really knew how much he meant to me until things fell apart, until I fell apart.  I never knew I hadn’t made it crystal clear that I loved him, that he was the rock upon which I built my life.  

How could we have misunderstood each other so thoroughly?

Getting back to good

Everyone here's to blame, everyone here
Gets caught up in the pleasure of the pain, everyone hides
Shades of shame, but looking inside we're the same, we're
The same
And we're all grown now, but we don't know how
To get it back to good    

                                                ~Matchbox 20

When someone tramples on your trust and love, it hurts immensely.  But also?  It feels liberating for a while.  Suddenly, you become convinced that you can do and say anything.   And for a while, you can.  

If he wants to stay and try to work things out, he’ll take any manner of shit you decide to dish out.  There is no limit to the name-calling and snide remarks you can get away with.

For a while, you may even come to the conclusion that you are henceforth exempt from ever giving a shit about this person’s feelings, pride, or dignity again.  After all, he didn’t care about yours, right?  So screw him. 

That takes a while to go away, too, even after you realize how counterproductive it is.  And it is counterproductive, if what you're trying to do is find you way back to a good place.  

You can't see a way back to any kind of good place yet, though, can you?  

You're wandering through your bizarre new Wonderland, and the paths available are these: 

Take the path to the right, and walk away from him.  You deserve better.  You can't stay with someone that betrayed you. You'd have no self respect.  

Or...

Take the path to the left, and stay with him.  Go on as if nothing ever happened.  Make him think that what he did was okay, because staying is like giving him permission, right?  

Yeah, I didn't like either of those options either.  The right seemed lonely and unfair.  The left seemed phony and pathetic and impossible to stomach.  

If I leave him, I'll be a failure.  All those people that thought we'd never last...they'll all be right.  I'll be a single mom, and I'll have to do it all alone, and all because of him and his stupid selfish choices.  And he can't even have the balls to just leave me, he's got to dump this in my lap, make this my decision, so if I break up our family it's on me, not him.  Fuck that.  

If I stay with him, I'll be a doormat.  All those women I've looked down on and shaken my head at in disbelief...I'll be one of them.  I'll be the good little wife that looks the other way, and what about next time he faces temptation?  There it will be in the back of his mind... she didn't leave me.  She's not going anywhere.  Well, fuck that, too.  

So where does that leave us now?  Well... You might have noticed the name of this little blog?  Yes, here's where it comes in.  

Those other paths?  Nope.  No thanks.  

I make the path.  

S. E. X.

In the hellish aftermath of infidelity, my heart was breaking, but my body still sought some semblance of comfort and solace. 

I remember lying in bed next to him, in the dark, feeling so alone and desolate, wanting above everything just to feel like a part of something again.  But then, when he would reach out hesitantly in the dark to touch me in comfort in those first few days, I suddenly felt like I was coming apart, like I couldn’t breathe.  

I needed him to touch me, and I loathed him with every fiber of my being.  

After days of the most intense stress in my personal experience, I was tied up in knots, literally.  One night, late in that first week, he offered to ease my tension... a back rub, nothing more.  I grudgingly acquiesced. 

The touch of his hands on my aching muscles eased them for the first time in days.  I could breathe, even though he was touching me.  

The touching became more intimate, and I could feel that he was trying to tell me he was sorry, he was trying to apologize to me with his hands and his body.  

I needed him, and I wanted him, but I hated him, and I hated me.  

I cried.  The tears flowed silently but steadily from the corners of my eyes as I lay there trying not to love him. 

My whole body was shaking from the force of my conflicted emotions.  The shaking was involuntary and even a little scary. I can only remember the crying and the shaking from that first time.  

Some of my tears were tears of shame, too; I was ashamed at my need for him.  

I wrote this soon after: 

All of my adult life, I have taken a hard line on cheating.  One and done… You cheat, I’m gone.  I’m out.  I cannot handle it.  Women that can are weak and have no self-respect or self esteem.  They choose to turn a blind eye.  They choose to live life with their head buried in the sand.  Not me.  I’m better than that. 

So, here I am.  My husband, my love, the father of my children, the man I grew up with and wanted to grow old with, has devastated me.  I want to run away.  I want to burrow down in a deep dark corner and lick my wounds.

He wants to stay with me.  He wants me to stay with him.  He wants our family and our life.  This thing he did…he says it made him see how much he values our life together.  Sex with someone else made him understand what was so amazing about sex with me.  It made him realize that he can’t go out and get what we have just anywhere, that what we have isn’t just sex.  It has made him see the value in our life together more than anything else could have.  

The thing is…  my world has come undone.  I am untethered from everything I held as truth.  According to my own rules of engagement, I should be gone by now.  I found out a week ago, and we’re still living in the same house, sleeping in the same bed.  Much to my shame and confusion, we’ve been intimate.  It’s all so unreal.  The pain is the only thing that seems real, because I can feel it.  

Wonderland sucks and I want to go home

I haven’t really gotten to the why of it yet.  The why isn't important, but it sort of is, too, so here it is:  he had decided to leave me.

He had been unhappy for a while, and he wanted out.

The thing is: I’m a shitty housekeeper.  I’m disorganized as hell, and we have dogs and cats and kids and 2 full time jobs.  The house is in a constant state of barely tolerable clutter and disarray.

I really do try, and sometimes I’m even successful for a day or two, but keeping house is just not my thing.  I’d rather be reading.  Or writing.  Or watching a movie.  Or working.  I get paid to work.  I don’t get paid to do laundry.  Whatever.

But… he had been living with me for 10 years, and he was done.  He still loved me, he said, but his frustration level was so high that it overshadowed even that.  I can’t say that I was blind to the frustration, but he had always bitched about the house.  I had always told him to get the fuck over it, worry about something more important.

In hindsight, this was clearly not a good plan, as this attitude was apparently what made him decide to leave.

{Let me just digress for a moment here.  We're not a Hoarders-worthy house.  It's REALLY NOT THAT BAD.  I swear.}

Because he had this revelation with the Holidays right around the corner, he was going to wait until they passed, and then he was going to leave and go live somewhere else.  Sometime after the first time he had actual sex with her, he realized what a colossal mistake he’d made.  He was hating himself for feeling the way he felt and for doing what he was doing.  He knew it was worse than wrong, and the hell of it was that he honestly didn’t even enjoy it.

So, how did it happen a second time, then?  That was hard to comprehend.  It seems the second time happened because he felt cornered, trapped in a web of his own creation.  Then, he was done.  He knew it wasn’t what he wanted.  He had lost his mind, and he suddenly saw what he was walking away from.

He told me I was his best friend, and somehow he’d lost sight of the fact that he would lose his best friend when he walked away from his wife.  He realized then that he didn’t want to lose either one.  Again, I was totally clueless while all of this was going on in his head.

Of course, in my mind, his betrayal was just confirmation of what I’d always thought in the back of my head:  I’m not good enough for him.  I’m not pretty enough.  After 2 pregnancies, weight gain, stretch marks, and breastfeeding, I’m definitely not sexy enough.  

He’d tried to assure me over the years that he loved me, loved to look at me, that my body bore his children, and how could that not turn him on?  I never really bought it.  I was always just waiting for the other shoe to drop, even though the sex was always great and I had no reason, then, not to believe him.  I was always too busy telling myself what was wrong with me.  Deep down, I never really thought I was worthy of the love and devotion I had had from him for 10 years.

Now, I was stuck in limbo.  I hated him, but I needed him to be with me all the time.  Daily life was too much for me to handle, and I needed him to shield me from it.  I needed him to commiserate with, even though he was the one that has caused all the anguish to begin with.

We went to therapy, but the therapist sucked.  Two weeks in, we were discussing things like chores and division of labor.  It was surreal.  While I tried to remain rational, inside my head I was screaming, "Are we really not going to talk more about the fact that he fucked someone else?!  Seriously?  Can we not go back to that for a minute?" 

I kept having these mental flashes of him with her.  If you have kids, maybe you know what it’s like to imagine what would happen if your child is hurt; not just to think about it, but to actually see it happen in your head.  Your toddler is standing too close to the street, and a car is coming, and suddenly in your head you see her walk out in front of the car, envision it hitting her, rolling over her like a ragdoll, and you see the car drive away while you child is laying lifeless in the street.

Then again, maybe you don’t. Maybe not everyone is that fucked up, but that’s what goes on in my head.  It’s not voluntary, this mental torture; these little scenes of gratuitous violence just pop into my head, unbidden.  That’s what was happening at the time, only it was sexual scenes of my husband with this other woman.

It was sick and twisted, and I couldn’t turn it off.  I told him what was going on in my head.  I think he understood that my mental state was very, very fragile, and I suspect he was afraid that I was going to hurt myself or that I was going to go into some sort of catatonic state while he was gone.  I know he wasn’t keen on leaving me much during those first weeks.  God, it was pure hell.

Why am I reliving this?  Because if that’s where you are right now, I want you to know I’ve walked there, too.  I know.  And if you’re feeling anything like I was feeling, maybe reading this will make you feel a little less crazy.  Maybe just for a minute.

You're ready to get off this crazy train and go home, right?  This new place is scary as hell, and nothing looks right, and you have no idea where to go or what to do next.

Welcome to Wonderland.

Don't let the name fool you.  Wonderland sucks.

Falling down the rabbit hole: Part 2

I knew I had to divorce him.  I had to.  There was no other real option.

There was no other option that allowed me to keep my self-respect, no other option that allowed me to go on with life not hating myself.

But then... I’d look at these children of ours.  They were both so young and so completely unaware of what was going on.

No, that’s not true.  I’m sure they knew that Mommy was checked out of reality.  I told them I was sick, didn’t feel good, needed quiet, etc.  But they didn’t know anything was going on with us.  If there was anything good that happened during that time, it was that we did not allow the kids to be privy to our shit.

As for the rest… I wasn’t eating.  I was covertly chain smoking, praying my kids wouldn’t see because we had successfully convinced the children that smoking is toxic and deadly, and so how could I let them see Mommy doing it?

I wanted to get hammered, but my stomach was so tied up in knots that while being drunk sounded like bliss, actually putting the drink in my mouth and swallowing was more than I could contemplate.

The first day after he confessed, I woke up feeling unsure of what planet I was on, much less what time it was or what day it was.  He was gone; he’d gone to work without waking me.

I remember feeling incredibly abandoned: How could he do this to me and then just leave me here like this? Sleep had been nearly impossible, and I needed to shove thoughts of him and his actions out of my head for a while.  There’s only so much you can handle at a time.

So, to avoid thoughts of him and our marriage that had crumbled at my feet, I started thinking about her.

The stupid bitch knows me, I kept thinking.   Not only that, but she was in a relationship, too.  The poor bastard she was with, the father of her infant, was probably as clueless as I was.

Well, I could fix that, at least.  So, I looked him up on facebook and filled him in.  I apologized for being the bearer of bad news, but, after all, I would’ve wanted someone to tell me.  I sent it with a tiny, mean feeling of satisfaction.  I never heard back from him.

After that was done, I drove up to The Scene Of The Crime, walked right up to her desk, and made her look me in the face.  I’d already sent her a little thank you note online the night before, so she knew that I knew.

I didn’t say much; I told her that at the end of the day this was his fault, but she was at least going to have to look me in the face, see my dead eyes, and confront the reality of what she had been a part of.  She only nodded and said she was sorry.  She was sorry!  Wasn't that nice?  Fuck her.

After that, I became a crazy person.  I ran reports on the cell phone bill.  I created spreadsheets.  I compared them to the freakishly detailed calendar I use to keep myself and the kids organized in our daily lives.   I made him go through it with me day-by-day, act-by-act, until I was confident I understood the full extent of it.  I knew what I was doing was probably crazy, and that’s what I kept saying to friends that knew what was going on.  I’m a fucking lunatic.  But I don’t know how to make it stop.

The gory details were these, in a nutshell: Over a 2-3 month period, my husband and a girl at his work exchanged flirty text messages, suggestive text messages, more suggestive text messages, naked photo text messages, had oral sex once, intercourse twice, and then he ended it and stopped communication with her entirely about 2 weeks before I found the incriminating evidence.  He had already made up his mind that he had done a bad bad thing, he loved his wife, he was never doing it again, and he was going to go on with life hoping to God no one ever found out about it.

But then I did find out.  

After I had what I thought was a pretty good picture of the events in questions, I wrote her an email.  Here’s what he said happened; do you have anything to change or add?  Do I have a good understanding of how things played out?  She said no, it sounded about right, she had nothing to add, and she was sorry.  She regretted all of it, and she had no self-respect.  Well, no shit.  I told her I didn’t hate her, but if she had any sort of soul, she’d probably be hating herself for a long time.  It was true; I was too busy hating him to hate her.

I wrote this to my husband a few days later:

I had faith in you.  That was my gift to you, my faith in you, loving you through all of the crap because (I thought) I knew the man you were inside, and I loved him unconditionally.  I had doubt and disappointment about some of your choices, but I never believed we could ever be anything but us. 

That's gone now for me, that dream of the life and relationship I was going to have.  No matter where it goes from here, that dream is dead.  Your betrayal has been soul-crushing.  You betrayed my body, my heart, our family, this crazy imperfect love-filled life we built... everything.  I'm left with this man that I don't know.  He looks like the man that I knew and sounds like the man that I knew, but I don't know how to love him anymore.  I don't know how to let go of him either, because he's the closest imitation to what I've lost and what I so desperately wish I could have back.

I seriously didn’t know how to crawl out of it intact.  I felt like a deer in headlights, frozen in uncertainty and fear.  There was nowhere to go to hide from it.  How was I supposed to put my kids’ lives into complete upheaval while it was all I could do to just breathe through the pain?  How could I stay in the same house, the same bed, with him after what he’d done?  The only thing I could do was to keep life totally normal for the kids.  That was all I had in my power to do.

So, that’s what I did.  And I breathed.  Sometimes, that's all you can do.

Falling down the rabbit hole: Part 1

A year and a half ago, my husband had sex with a female coworker.  At work.  Twice.  Or three times, depending on your definition of sex.

I was completely unaware.

I was deeply in love with my husband and had been for 12 years. We had just celebrated our 10-year anniversary.  We have two children.  He was my best friend.  As far as I knew, everything was fine.  Everything was just as it had always been.

While the affair (what a stupid, meaningless word) was happening, we were going to Christmas parties, celebrating his birthday, going on Christmas light tours, and going out for family dinners.  We were having sex.  I was absolutely clueless.

I was looking at the cell phone bill and just happened to notice something odd.  I got a weird feeling about a number that kept recurring in my husband’s text message list, and I looked on his phone to see who the number belonged to.  It was someone from his work… innocent enough, as they do a lot of texting to communicate.  What wasn’t innocent, though, was the fact that all of the messages had been deleted from his phone…. all of them.  And there had been hundreds.

I was able to recover enough deleted data from his phone to know that there was definitely something going on between them.  In case you’re wondering, there’s never a legitimate work-related reason for a female coworker to ask your husband:

Or to tell him: 

And with that, I was Alice, and I was falling down, down, down the rabbit hole... 

There was confrontation, denial, more confrontation, more denial, and finally there was a break down. 

He cried like a baby and confessed, and then he started packing a bag.

  

Any time I’d ever played out this scenario in my head, that’s how it would’ve gone.  Get the fuck out of my house, you cheating bastard.  But suddenly, instead of letting him walk out, letting him walk away from the devastation he had just caused, I said, No way.  Fuck that.  You don’t get to walk away.  

Who was going to take care of these children of ours while I was trying to pick myself up off the ground and breathe?  If anyone was leaving, I was.  But where would I have gone?  Somewhere to lick my wounds all alone, maybe, or to a friend’s house to be fawned over and pitied?  No thank you.  

Aside from that, though, I needed to hear it.  I had to know.  When, where, how often, what positions...  I wanted him to relive every single soul-crushing, marriage-killing act he had committed.  I couldn’t even try to wrap my head around the question of why until I knew the rest of it.